


Like Home

by cheekiestcheeky



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Homeless, First Time, M/M, Slow Burn, certainly a blushing harry, sort of shy harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-08 18:04:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 105,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheekiestcheeky/pseuds/cheekiestcheeky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis is on his way to a meeting when a certain curly-haired, homeless kid catches his attention, so much so that he gives him the coat from his back. He never expected to see the boy again, but through a twist of fate (or maybe just a mere act of pure stupidity), the two find their lives colliding again and again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So I've been posting this on tumblr (cheekiestcheeky) and, now that I've had this account sitting here for a while, I figure it's about time to start transferring some things. This is a work in progress and I make no claims of being a fast updater (I'm really, really not), but if you take the time to read this I really hope you like it. If you're interested, you can check out my tumblr as well for translations and extras, such as explanations, a Christmas special, and music. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing, none of this is even somewhat true, and I'm a really shit updater.

"Look, El, I'm sorry, but I can't tonight … I've already told you why, and no, I can't ditch my team— _again_ ," Louis snapped into his phone, his voice perhaps a bit too harsh for being in such a public setting. But the young man wasn't paying his surroundings much attention as he slowed his steps and let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger.   
  
He came to a complete stop, absolutely defeated as he listened to his girlfriend's voice nag on and on and on through the phone, though he wasn't entirely listening to everything she had to say. He knew he should probably feel bad about that, but he didn't. This nagging bit of their relationship, these petty little fights that sprung up completely out of nowhere and often over the most trivial of things had been happening for weeks now, maybe even a month and a half or so. But it felt like forever.   
  
And Louis was tired.  
  
He was tired of listening. Tired of caring. Tired of putting in the effort.   
  
They would fix things up just to tear them down again, and it was growing tedious and tiresome and Louis wanted nothing more than to throw in the towel. But he couldn't do that now, not over the phone and especially not with Christmas just two days away.   
  
So he heaved a sigh as Eleanor's voice finally came to a halt and decided to take the blame this time around. "You're right," he said, feigning the most sincerity he could. "I'm sorry, babe, I should've told you earlier. I get that. I'll make it up to you tomorrow I swear, but my train's about to pull in, so I've got to hang up, okay? … Okay … Yeah, yeah, I know. Love you too, El. Bye."   
  
Stopping another sigh from passing through his lips, Louis pulled the phone from his ear and hit the onscreen ‘end call' button with a bit more force than truly necessary, almost sending the phone flying from his hand. His grip tightened around it just in time though, and he kept it in his hand as he readjusted his shoulder bag, straightened his coat that was draped over his forearm to ensure it didn't fall, and pushed the freshest fight from his mind as he took off at a quick pace to navigate through the station and to the right platform for his train.   
  
It wasn't an unfamiliar walk, since Louis often had to catch the 7:43 train out of town for sudden, last minute business meetings. But he still felt a little hitch of nerves whenever he entered the station and was greeted by its slightly foreign surroundings. The lights were always dim, there was always an eerie draft no matter the temperature above ground, and the people rushing about always passed with blank eyes and tired features, never a smile to share.   
  
It set Louis on edge.   
  
He weaved his way through the crowds this day with downcast eyes, trying to pass without once ever making eye contact—not everyone liked that, he had learned early on. Some people took that as an intrusion of privacy. So he had since found it best to make his journey through the old station with his eyes on the ground instead of letting them bounce from unfamiliar face to unfamiliar face.   
  
When he found himself standing behind the yellow line at the right platform, he finally lifted his head and let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He never really was one for public transit; crowds made him nervous. And today was exceptionally draining on his comfort as he looked up and down the platform, noting the surge in crowds that the holidays brought. Young and old, grandparents, little kids—all were present, it seemed, and all were waiting with long faces for the 7:43 train that, Louis noticed with a quick glance at his wristwatch, was currently running four minutes behind schedule.   
  
"Oi! I've told you lot before, get!" a booming voice bellowed from behind the platform, echoing throughout the station and gaining attention.   
  
Louis turned toward the ruckus, his eyes falling on an officer who was waving his baton spastically at a crowd of people.   
  
Homeless people, from the looks of it. They had settled against a wall of the station, lined up side by side with what little belongings they all had. The few belongings that they were all now rushing to snag up in their arms as the officer continued chastising them, mixing in a lot of talk about laws and disrupting the peace as he spat at them.   
  
"Oh just let them be," a middle-aged woman with frazzled blond hair croaked at the officer, looking more than a little displeased with the situation. But she didn't seem phased at all by the glare the officer sent her. Rather she continued in her tired voice, "They could die out there tonight with the wind chills, you know that? They ain't doing no one no harm by staying here for the night."   
  
The officer's eyes were wide, the woman's defiance leaving him momentarily silent.   
  
The group of people looked on to the scene with slight curiosity, but most of their eyes didn't hold even an ounce of hope; they knew the woman's efforts were coming from the heart, but they knew most of all that they wouldn't change a thing.   
  
They would still be kicked out from the mild warmth the station had to offer, which Louis noticed one of the people mentioning to one of the youngest looking members of the group with a nudge to the shoulder and a jerk of the head. It was an older man, maybe younger than sixty, and a young boy who Louis didn't think looked a day past eighteen.   
  
He looked much too young to be down here, fumbling with a ratty old backpack as he watched the unraveling scene with wide, jumpy eyes. He looked nervous. Antsy. He looked, Louis thought, like fresh meat. He didn't have all the layers the other folks had, just a thin t-shirt and a pair of jeans that looked like they may have slid off of his slender frame if it weren’t for the narrow belt holding them up. Where the others had dirty knuckles poking out from fingerless gloves and unkempt hair shoved beneath hoods and hats, he had bare hands and unruly, shaggy brown curls, completely uncovered.   
  
He was clearly unprepared.   
  
“They can spend their night at the shelter,” the officer continued to bark, momentarily regaining Louis’ attention. “That’s what they’re there for anyway.”  
  
The woman snorted, rolling her eyes. “Think they’ll have space in a city this big at the holidays? That’d certainly be a Christmas miracle,” she muttered.   
  
With a furrowed brow, the officer stood up a bit taller, his jaw stiffening as he straightened his coat. “Well,” he started with a note of conclusion in his tone, “they should have thought about that before wasting all their money.”   
  
The atrocious generalization received quite a few glares and several mouths opened in protest, but none spoke, as their voices would have been drowned by the roar of the train pulling into the station. The woman shook her head at the officer and handed a few coins to a couple of the homeless strangers, sharing a few quick words before heading up to the platform.   
  
Louis was still watching the scene, despite it having ended, as the train pulled fully into the station. His feet took a few steps toward the opening doors, but his eyes lingered back on the group of people, particularly on the underdressed, curly-haired boy who was watching the retreating officer with a look nothing short of apprehensive. The older man, who had walked a few steps away, seemed to notice his look though and nudged the boy, motioning toward the exit that would lead them back up above ground.  
  
Back out into the bitter, late December cold.   
  
The thought made a twinge of guilt flare in Louis’ stomach, and he found himself calling out a second later, “Hey, kid!”   
  
The curly-haired boy turned at the voice, somehow knowing it was aimed at him, and met Louis’ eyes with a look of fright.   
  
“Here,” Louis said, taking a few steps toward him. He tossed the boy the coat that had been draped over his arm, a smile crossing his features as the boy caught it and stared at it with uncertainty. “You take it.”   
  
The boy’s eyes widened, and he shook his head, already holding the coat back out for Louis to take. “Oh, I can’t, no, but you—”   
  
“I’ve got another coat at home,” Louis cut him off with a lifted hand. “That can be yours. Consider it a Christmas gift.”   
  
“Are you sure?” the boy asked and visibly swallowed at Louis’ nod. He turned the coat over in his hands, staring at it with a sort of awe that Louis wasn’t entirely sure how to place. Finding his voice after a moment, he met Louis’ eyes with a ghost of a smile gliding across his lips. “Thank you.”   
  
There was a beep behind him, signaling that the train’s doors were only seconds away from closing. Louis glanced over his shoulder and took a few steps toward the train before looking back at the curly-haired boy. “You’re welcome,” he called back toward him. “Look, I’ve got to go, but there should be twenty quid in one of the pockets. Get yourself a good meal tonight, alright?”   
  
He couldn’t stand around and wait for a reply. He boarded the train and the doors closed before the boy could even move his lips to form a single syllable. He grabbed hold of one of the overhead bars once aboard and ducked to peer out one of the windows, a smile claiming his lips as he saw the boy still staring at the coat in wonder.   
  
The boy didn’t look up until the train had already pulled out of the station.   
  
He didn’t even know what to think; no one had ever given him more than loose change and pocket fuzz since he’d been on the streets. Most people even seem appalled that he would be there, offended that he would ask them for money, for anything.   
  
To have a stranger give him his coat?   
  
It was quite possibly the most thoughtful thing anyone had ever done for him, before and after. But he didn’t have the time to dwell on the matter as a growingly familiar voice called his name. “Harry, come on, let’s get out of here before that cop comes back through!”   
  
Harry glanced toward the older man, standing with a foot already up the steps that would lead them back outside.   
  
He sent him a smile and slipped off his backpack just long enough to pull on the coat. It was a bit snug around the shoulders, but it was warm. Really warm. A dark navy wool, he felt like he had gone from wearing rags to robes as he pulled it tight around his frame and hurried off to join the others.   
  
Climbing the steps up and out of the station, Harry shoved his hands into the pockets and stopped as his right hand collided with something much larger than a banknote.   
  
He wrapped his fingers around the object and pulled it out.   
  
His eyes widened.   
  
It was a wallet.   
  
A brown, leather tri-fold that he was certain held far more than twenty quid.   
  
Before anyone else could see, he stuffed it back into the pocket and scurried to catch up with the group. But his fingers wrapped around its smooth exterior and clung to it like it was crowned jewels.   
  
That night, one man struck gold and the other struck out.   
  
~*~


	2. Day One: But You Did

_This is stupid._  
  
That was the only thought that continued to occupy Harry’s mind as he made his way down an unfamiliar sidewalk, just on the outskirts of the city. A bone chilling wind whipped about him, making an almost fictitious  _whoosh_  as it whisked through the narrow passages between every building. It curled its way around every body unfortunate enough to be out in the rather frightful weather that Friday morning, wrapping around them with an icy embrace.   
  
Harry pulled the wool coat farther around his frame and ducked his chin into the neck of it the best he could. His teeth were chattering, his lips chapped and cheeks so sore from the cold that it took his every nerve not to slip into the nearest establishment just to relish a few moments of heat.   
  
But no, he reasoned with himself and tore his eyes away from a little restaurant that looked more than slightly inviting as its indoors sent a light, warm glow out onto the pavement. He could feel the heat sneaking out of the place as he passed but ignored it with a hard brow, glaring at the wet snow that pelted the ground as rain by the time it made contact.   
  
His fingers curled around an object that had been shoved to the bottom of the one pocket. An object that's shape his fingers had grown familiar with, recognizing the gentle curve of an edge and memorizing the thickness of it as though he had held it in his hand for years now. But he had only held the object in question, a stranger’s wallet, since the night before. His fingers had clung to the cool leather as he succumbed to slumber in a dark cranny, tucked away from the city lights and nearly out of reach of the unrelenting wind. So Harry found it a bit odd as his fingers wrapped around the familiar shape and it was suddenly easier to ignore the warmth that dared to swerve him from his destination. Though he didn’t dare to acknowledge that sudden simplicity, for his thoughts didn’t quite match up with his conscience that was currently leading him to a flat of a person he didn’t know on a street he had never before heard of.   
  
And besides, this was stupid.   
  
That much Harry had determined as he rounded a corner onto the unfamiliar street he had been looking for. His eyes suddenly began to jump around the block, hopping from building to building in search for the right numbers. 243C Mayberry St was the address for which his gaze was nervously searching.   
  
The three-digit number had been replaying in his mind almost constantly since the night before, when he had read the address off of the ID he had extracted from the wallet. He’d had to tilt the little laminated card into the narrow shaft of pale, orange-ish light that made its way under the flyover from one of the street lamps nearby. Usually Harry did everything in his power to scurry into the safe blanket of darkness that the meeting of the stone-covered slope and flyover made; there was just enough flat space at the top of the slope that Harry had managed to make camp in the little nook of the two structures. It wasn’t much, slipping into the tiny hollowed out space beneath the flyover, but it was something. It was out of the eyes of any passersby, hidden enough from the wandering eyes of bored officers; it was safe. It wasn’t a home. There wasn’t a heater, a fridge, a toilet, or a bed. There wasn’t even a pillow to call his.   
  
But it was enough.   
  
It was enough to get by, and it was in that sacred little space all his own that Harry had finally taken the wallet from the pocket of the coat a stranger had given him. He sat with his knees hugged to his chest, shutting out the wind that, unfortunately, whipped all around him while he carefully opened the leather tri-fold. His great green eyes flickered across the contents as he lifted a stack of cards from one of the slots. His fingers brushed over the smoothness of them, and he scooted across the concrete and stones of the slope beneath him until he could use that little stream of light to inspect the stranger’s world that he held cautiously in his hands.   
  
Hesitance shining through his trembling fingers that night, Harry learned about this kind stranger bit by bit. He learned that this young man who had so generously given away his coat had the name Louis. Louis Tomlinson, in full, and even though Harry knew nothing more about him at that moment, he thought he seemed nice.   
  
Harry examined the driving license for a couple minutes more before moving on, his eyes flitting across the information a few times through before making their way over to the smiling face that occupied the lower left corner of the card. He let his gaze linger for perhaps a moment too long, taking in the feathered wisps of dark caramel locks that were brushed across the photographed lad’s forehead, the pools of light azure that made up his eyes, and the pearly whites that Harry thought looked almost too perfect in his tight little smile.   
  
A blaring horn of a car passing above tore Harry’s eyes away from the card in his hands, and he was startled to feel his features falling from a smile. A short smile it had been, but a smile all the same. The pulling of the smile, a genuine one that had evidently snuck up on him, felt foreign to his muscles, and he ran a hand tentatively down from his cheeks as though to ensure everything was still intact. It felt… odd.   
  
Remembering the sensation, Harry absentmindedly lifted his left hand from his pocket and to his cheek as his eyes continued glancing about the street numbers on the rows of tightly packed houses lining the block. He crossed a small intersection, making his way from the 100-block into the 200. The numbers grew quickly as he walked, and within only a minute he found himself slowing in front of a two-story brick house. A blue door stood out on front, framed in white, and beside it, screwed into the bricks, were three pieces of metal forged into the numbers 243, finished in an eye-catching satin nickel that stood out against the dark bricks. His eyes flashed from the address and about the entire front of the residence, noting the two windows on either side of the door on the first floor and the four that spanned across the front of the second. Similar white blinds were in place in each window, but those on the second story were cracked, welcoming in what little bit of sunshine shone that bitter December morning.   
  
With a deep breath, the curly-haired boy broke his attention away from his observations and made his way up the front walk to the blue front door. He paused on the step, eyes searching for a buzzer or a doorbell or something of a similar sort to let the tenant of 243C know of his presence.   
  
But, oddly, he found none. He furrowed his brow at the simple bareness of the house front and took a quick glance around the street; he didn’t want someone thinking he was trying to break-in when all he was really trying to do was return a wallet. That would really only make this whole endeavor even stupider, he thought, as he brought a knuckle up to rap against the front door. After all, this Louis stranger was the one idiotic enough to leave his wallet in the pocket of a coat he so carelessly gave away. It wasn’t Harry’s fault the man had failed to check the pockets beforehand.   
  
Regardless, Harry kept his one hand wrapped firmly around the wallet in his one pocket while bringing his other hand back to his side after knocking on the door. He took a step back, so as not to be too close to whoever would answer the door.   
  
But he hadn’t needed to worry, for no one ever came to the door.   
  
Instead, minutes later, Harry found himself pushing open the blue front door without any trouble at all. It led into what he could only presume to be an entryway, furbished with a dark green, plush carpet that was undoubtedly one of the softest surfaces his feet had walked on in quite a few weeks. With his wide eyes darting about uncertainly, he padded his way into the open room and closed the door behind him with a light click. It was silent in the entryway, and he took a moment to glance around before heading in search of the owner of the wallet he currently held in his possession. Looking around furtively, his eyes found a collection of mailboxes against one wall, a long table situated beneath them, and a staircase against the other wall, leading to the second story. There was one door to his left and one to his right, an A and B hanging on each respectively.   
  
Catching onto the layout, Harry ascended the stairs with another furtive, almost nervous look around, as though afraid that someone was going to exit one of the rooms at any moment and bark him out of the building for trespassing. But he swallowed his nerves as he came to the top of the stairs to stand before the door that had a golden C hanging lopsidedly from it. His eyes focused on the worn knob of the door, and he stared at it for a good moment, letting his thoughts collect and his nerves calm before he brought his free hand up to the door and rapped his knuckle against the wooden surface in a fast, four-tap rhythm.   
  
And then he waited. It was only seconds before some rustling and footsteps could be heard on the other side of the door, but it felt like minutes as Harry stood there with his hands shoved down as far as they would go into the pockets of his acquired coat. His lower lip had been drawn in beneath his teeth, and he was biting down so hard on it that it shone white by the time the door was opened to reveal the face of… well, not the blue-eyed Louis stranger Harry had expected.   
  
Instead there stood a dark-haired man, probably around the same age as Louis, Harry guessed, with olive colored skin and dark eyes that glistened with curiosity as they met his. “What can I do for you, mate?” he asked in greeting, an easy smile settling into place across his lips.   
  
Harry blinked, uncertain of how then to carry out any sort of conversation. This was not what he had expected. He had planned on walking straight up to flat 243C, coming face to face with the same smiling stranger from the evening prior, returning his wallet, thanking him again for the coat, and then that would be the end of that. End of story. So it was with a shaky breath that he finally spoke. “Does,” he broke to clear his throat, “sorry, does, erm –”   
  
He never even got to finish his question, though, as the dark-haired man’s features lit up with something Harry didn’t know how quite to identify. The lad’s eyes widened slightly despite that his brow seemed to knit together in faint confusion, and his lips pulled into the smallest of knowing smirks as he took in Harry’s attire. He turned just enough so that his voice would direct back into the flat and called out, “Louis! There’s some bloke at the door… and he’s wearing your coat?”   
  
The younger boy flushed at the older one’s words, though he knew there was nothing to be embarrassed or ashamed about; the coat had been given to him, after all. It’s not like he stole it.   
  
There wasn’t much time to dwell on the faint wave of embarrassment though, as a door could be heard opening a bit farther in the flat and the sound of feet slamming against the wood floors introduced the young man running toward the door before he was even in sight. The blue-eyed stranger with the brown, feathered hair that Harry had expected to find came stumbling toward the door, his arms preoccupied with tugging on a jumper over his head. Pulling the jumper down all the way, his steps slowed and his eyes met Harry’s with a wave of recognition.   
  
“Oh thank god it’s you,” he, Louis, Harry presumed, breathed out in what came off as a sigh of relief. His features twitched with the relief and his shoulders that had been stiff with apprehension relaxed as he let his eyes skirt about the figure standing just outside the door of his flat.   
  
Harry shifted under his stare and cleared his throat after a moment. “Erm, yeah, I –”  
  
“Did you find a –” Louis cut his words short as Harry pulled the wallet from his pocket and held it out with one hand as a sort of peace offering. “Oh thank  _god_.”   
  
The dark-haired man who had greeted Harry cackled. “Yeah,” he said and finally took a step away from the door, “thank god, now you can stop tearing apart the flat trying to find it. I told you it wasn’t in here.”   
  
Louis sent the man a glare. “Shut up, Zayn,” he muttered. “You know I thought –”   
  
“That you weren’t enough of an idiot to leave your wallet in the coat you gave away to the kid, yeah,” Zayn said with a roll of his eyes and squeezed the other boy’s shoulder as he passed. “I know.”   
  
Harry watched on with uncertainty as the dark-haired man, Zayn, disappeared back into one of the rooms of the flat, leaving the Louis stranger and him entirely alone.   
  
“So,” Louis turned toward him after a short moment, a smile gracing his lips. “Found my address on an ID, I’m guessing?”   
  
It was a stupid question, really, but Harry could still only manage a stiff nod as he handed over the wallet.   
  
Louis took the wallet in both of his hands and casted a quick, nervous glance between it and Harry a couple times. He turned away slightly as he opened it and tried to discreetly rummage through the contents, but his actions were, evidently, not very subtle.   
  
“I didn’t steal anything,” Harry blurted out in a rather blunt tone, causing the brunette to start at his words.   
  
Pools of blue jumped to meet a sea of honest green, and Louis shook his head, trying on a smile as he lowered the object to his side. “I didn’t think you did,” he replied simply, but the guilty blush that tore across his cheeks said otherwise.   
  
“I’m homeless,” the curly-haired boy stated softly and ended with an unquestionable note of defeat, “not a thief.”   
  
He stared back at Louis, aware of the way the young man’s fingers were twitching against the wallet, as though he were severely fighting the urge to fan through its contents to ensure the boy wasn’t lying. But the longer he stared, the less the fingers twitched, and within a minute the man had slipped the wallet into his back pocket and let it stay. “Right,” he agreed with a nod and a hint of a smile. “Sorry.”   
  
Harry’s lips tugged with a slight smile of understanding. “I did use the twenty quid you said I could, though,” he added on, biting his lip as though unsure. “I put the change back.”   
  
“You could’ve kept it,” Louis said. “The change, I mean, that would’ve been okay. I probably wouldn’t have noticed anyway.”   
  
Harry only shrugged, rolling on the balls of his feet as he still stood at the door to the flat, his hands wringing together.   
  
“What’s your name?”   
  
The question caught Harry off guard and he lifted his eyes from the floor with a raised brow. “Sorry?” Louis couldn’t have asked for his name; why would he want to know that?   
  
But he did, that much was certain as Louis smiled and took a few steps toward the curly-haired boy. “Your name?” he asked again, almost smirking at the look of disbelief flying across Harry’s features. “I just want to thank you properly, that’s all.”   
  
Harry broke his eyes away from Louis’ for a moment, gaze locking on the worn, scuffed toes of his white converse. He tried to think of the last time he had actually told his name to anyone. It had been a while, of that he was sure. He was never around anyone long enough anymore to get to know him or her by name. And with the exception of a couple of the guys he had been following around during the day, other men as unfortunate as himself, no one cared enough to ever ask him his name.  
  
But here this Louis stranger was, standing before him with a kind smile shining upon his lips and the question hanging in the air;  _he_  wanted to know.   
  
So with a light fluttering in his chest that he chose to ignore, he brought his eyes back to Louis and responded gently, “Harry.”   
  
“Harry,” Louis echoed with a smile in his voice, and Harry liked the way it sounded. He liked how it rolled off of the other man’s tongue with ease and met his ears as though it were sung, even though it was only a single, spoken word.   
  
He allowed the smile to flourish across his own lips as he shook the hand Louis had stretched out toward him after offering his name as well. He knew it had also been a while since he had shook someone’s hand, but he couldn’t help but think that Louis’ hand was incredibly soft against his own. It sent a little thrill prancing down his spine.   
  
“Well, Harry,” Louis spoke as he drew his hand from Harry’s and crossed his arms against his chest. “Thanks very much for returning my wallet. I doubt a lot of people would traipse about town in this weather just to return something like that. I mean, you didn’t have to, but you did. I really appreciate it.”   
  
Harry bit his lip to tame the smile that was waiting to burst and lifted his shoulder in a light shrug. “You didn’t have to give me your coat,” he replied simply, “but you did.”   
  
Their eyes stayed locked for a moment, blue and green mixing together in a silent conversation that Harry didn’t quite know what to make of. The other boy’s gaze was twinkling with something like compassion and admiration and perhaps a pinch of curiosity. Harry almost thought about asking what for, but he was never given the chance as Louis turned away with a smile and beckoned for him to come inside.   
  
He stayed at the door, though, staring after the blue-eyed lad uncertainly.   
  
“Come on, Harry, you’re not going to stand there all day are you?” Louis wondered, cocking a brow.   
  
Harry stammered out a negative response but remained in the hall, toes brushing on the threshold of a home he didn’t feel he had any right to step foot in.   
  
“So come on, then,” Louis tried again, stopping to turn back toward the curly-haired boy who had bowed his head, eyes set once more on his shoes.   
  
“Well I should actually –”  
  
“Have you eaten yet?”   
  
Harry lifted his head enough to let his eyes find Louis’. “W-what?” he asked, trying to ignore the low rumbling his stomach made in response just to the mere mention of a meal.   
  
“Did you eat lunch yet?” Louis repeated and waited for a response, but one never came. “Good. Neither have I, so how about we go grab a bite, yeah? My treat. And don’t say no. Just think of it as thanks for bringing back my wallet, okay? Great! Just let me grab my coat and shoes and we’ll head out. Don’t go anywhere.”   
  
With that, Louis disappeared back into one of the rooms of the flat and left Harry standing at the front door in utter confusion. His mind chased after the words Louis had just sputtered out in a rush and finally caught up to the present with a stuttering blink. Had this stranger just offered another meal?   
  
He felt a tug in his stomach as the question crossed his mind, a low pull of undeniable guilt. Guilt for taking too much and not being able to give a thing in return. He hated that feeling, feeling in debt to someone, especially when that someone was a stranger. Harry had tried everything in his power the past few months to avoid that debt. He had never asked for much, just loose change whenever a kind soul could spare it.   
  
But this? This was too much. His hands suddenly felt clammy in the pockets of the coat that wasn’t really his, and his mind raced back to the meal he had been able to afford the night before—the biggest, most filling meal he could remember eating in weeks. And as he found himself back in the present, staring into the house of a Louis Tomlinson whose kindness he couldn’t seem to wrap his mind around, he felt lightheaded.   
  
Lightheaded and dizzy and irrefutably overwhelmed.   
  
He could just run. He could turn, walk down the stairs, out through the blue front door of complex 243 on Mayberry Street and forget this ever happened. He could leave and stop his debt with Louis Tomlinson from growing. He was still in the hallway, his feet still having never crossed over the threshold into the flat. There was nothing tying him down.   
  
Except for Louis’ last words –  _Don’t go anywhere._  
  
They shouldn’t have meant anything to him, those words. They were spoken by a stranger. A very generous, blue-eyed, feathered-haired stranger, but he was a stranger all the same.   
  
And yet, for a reason Harry didn’t quite understand, he stayed rooted to his spot outside of flat 243C that bitter December morning, waiting until that kind, blue-eyed stranger emerged from his room with his shoes, a similar wool coat, and a toothy grin that Harry couldn’t help but mirror.   
  
~*~


	3. Day Two: I Think That's Alright

Louis stopped short, his socked feet shuffling to a halt across the wooden floors of his flat right outside of his living room. He stayed just a couple steps from the main room, stood in the hallway, and watched. His bright eyes peered around the edge of the wall and out into the sitting room, surveying the familiar space before landing on a mop of dark curls that seemed surprisingly not as out of place as he would have expected.   
  
The boy who sported the curls was currently sitting on the couch in the main room of Louis and Zayn’s apartment. Perhaps “lounging” would now be a more appropriate word, Louis thought mindlessly, as he saw that the boy had finally relaxed enough to uncurl from the corner of the couch he had been scrunched up in for the better part of the night. A smile tickled Louis’ lips as he stared, for some reason pleased to see the boy, Harry, growing more and more comfortable in his home with each passing minute. There was something satisfying about this, watching the young man let down his defenses one by one, relaxing little by little. Though maybe it was just the warmth that was coming out of the heater a bit too strongly this evening or the boy’s own fatigue getting to him, and maybe in the morning all of those nerves that Louis had spent the day trying to rid of would rush straight back, return with the groggy opening of one’s eyes in the morning, and the boy would again be standing at the door with a look of uncertainty and weariness stretching his every feature.   
  
 _Morning_. The word echoed in Louis’ mind and brought a short smile to fill his lips. He didn’t know why, but the thought of waking up and finding this curly-haired stranger still curled up on his couch made his chest warm. There was something oddly pleasing about it, knowing he wouldn’t have spent the night out in the cold again, and on Christmas of all days.   
  
At least, he hoped the boy would still be here in the morning. He had explained to Harry (after practically twisting Zayn’s arm all the way off to agree) that he was more than welcome to crash on their couch, especially at least until the snowstorm passed through.   
 _  
“But why?” Harry had asked, not even meeting Louis’ eyes as he stared at his too big mug of hot cocoa. “Why are you… doing this, just letting me stay?”  
  
Louis just shrugged while he continued putting away an abundance of groceries, padding around the kitchen, as Harry stayed seated uncertainly at the kitchen table. His shoulders were hunched up and his head ducked, curls hanging into his eyes that seemed to stay downcast every time Louis tried to strike up a bit of conversation. Staying down as though he didn’t even deserve to make eye contact. But Louis didn’t notice this time around, as he was currently too busy, squatting down to stick a few items into one of the cabinets as he replied, “Do I need a reason?”   
  
Harry didn’t respond directly. He only offered for what felt like the tenth time that day, “But you don’t even know me.”   
  
“You’re right,” Louis agreed as he swiveled around on the balls of feet, staying in a squatted position by the cabinets. “I don’t. Does that mean I’m not allowed to offer you a place to sleep or maybe a meal or two every now and then?”   
  
“No, but I don’t,” the boy stopped his words, letting out a sigh as he ran nervous fingers through his mane of curls. His voice softened, coming out as only a crack of a whisper, “I can’t give you anything in return. I don’t have any money.”   
  
“I don’t think you’d be sleeping on the streets if you did,” Louis replied with a gentle chuckle. “Look, I know you don’t, Harry. It’s not like I’m asking for rent or any kind of compensation. I’m just offering you a place to crash and get out of the cold for a while, okay? Nothing more, nothing less.”   
  
“But why?” he asked again, this time finally raising his eyes from his still steaming mug of cocoa. Green met blue and Louis wasn’t sure his heart had ever stuttered quite like that – Harry looked so… shattered, that was the only word that seemed to fit. Uncertain and hesitant, appearing so small as he sat at Louis’ kitchen table with a look covering his every feature that screamed how insignificant he thought himself, unworthy of any of this attention.   
  
Louis found it hard to speak even after looking away, blinking hard as he moved his lips to form words that wouldn’t come. Shaking his head after a moment, he turned back to Harry and the most he could do was try a smile on for size. It sat, for the first time uncertain, upon his lips. “I just want to, is that alright?”   
  
Harry had stared at him for a long moment, staring into his eyes and completely unmoving. Just staring. And then he nodded, oh so slowly and tentatively, as though he himself weren’t even positive with his answer. But he nodded and said quietly, “Yeah. I think that’s alright.”   
_  
Louis recalled the conversation with a deep breath and made his way out into the living room, padding his way over to the couch. The curly-haired boy didn’t notice his approach, his eyes set on the telly that was sputtering out some old, animated Christmas special, the kind that Louis loved to curl up and watch late on Christmas Eve.   
  
He stood behind the couch, watching for several seconds before clearing his throat to announce his presence.   
  
The boy stirred at the sound but didn’t jump, turning just enough to watch as Louis rounded the end of the couch and sat gingerly on the far armrest, a large, worn duvet hugged in his arms. “I always loved this one,” Louis commented, nodding toward the television.   
  
Harry smiled softly. “Me too,” he agreed, but that was all he had to share.   
  
They sat in silence for a few minutes, just watching the show, the only sounds escaping them in the form of laughter that fell from their lips and mixed in the room to match the comfort of the late, late evening. It was as the show came to a commercial break that Louis let his eyes drift toward the clock the rested near the little Christmas tree they had set up in the corner of the room. Quarter to three.   
  
A fitting yawn sounded from the other end of the couch, and he turned in time to find the younger boy wiping at his eyes. “Here,” he said and he handed over the duvet he had dug out from the back of the hall closet. Harry looked at it skeptically. Louis simply rolled his eyes and began unfolding it; grabbing two corners and tossing it slightly until it came to rest on the couch fully open, over Harry’s crossed legs. “It’s warm now, but it gets pretty nippy in here in the mornings.”   
  
Harry only nodded in understanding and let his fingers run across the closest edge of the quilt, curling ever so slightly. His green eyes, seeming to sparkle in the colorful, festive lights that lit the room, scampered across the ratty, thick blanket before running up to meet Louis’. “Thanks,” he seemed to add as an afterthought.   
  
“‘Welcome,” Louis reciprocated with a slight bow of the head. “Mind if I stay through the end of this one?”   
  
Brown curls shook in a negative. “It’s your home,” he said, as though that explained his lack of care altogether.   
  
Louis smiled, shaking his head at the boy as he slid back down onto the couch. He took up the edge of the blanket and got comfortable underneath, trying to ignore how the other boy stiffened at his corner of the couch.   
  
“Thanks for sticking around tonight, by the way,” he spoke after settling in, commercials still flashing across the screen. “I didn’t think El would be hanging around that long. Zayn kept you company, I suppose?”   
  
Harry was gnawing on his lower lip but nodded slightly. “We just cleaned up, watched some telly.” He shrugged.   
  
Louis had ended up having to take Eleanor back to her house earlier that evening, leaving the curly-haired boy for the first time that day. He’d hated to do it – for some reason he felt as though if he were to leave the boy’s sight, he’d never seen him again.   
  
And for some reason, that frightened him.   
  
But when he had returned back to the flat (after a rather reckless drive home, might I add) and found that mop of brown curls resting against the couch beside Zayn’s unmistakable quiff, he had released a breath he hadn’t even known he was holding.   
  
“He made you clean?” Louis asked, letting out a sound of offense.   
  
A tinge of a blush dusted across the boy’s cheeks, and those curls shook yet again. “I offered to help,” Harry assured him, biting his lip as his eyes flitted back to the television. “It’s the least I can do.”   
  
“Right, but you didn’t have to,” Louis reiterated. “You’re a guest here, after all.”   
  
At that, Harry only shrugged as the show returned from commercial, but a slight smile lay across his lips. It stayed there as the show continued, the plot nearing its end, though Louis wasn’t watching; his eyes were set on the boy at the other end of the couch. The curious boy with the dark curls who seemed to have stumbled into his life with no preamble – though hadn’t he invited him in? Well, yes, he had. It was Louis who had taken the step forward to offer the boy his coat, but he couldn’t explain the force that had brought his attention to the boy in the first place.   
  
Besides, Louis passed numerous homeless people on a daily basis. Sometimes it felt as though they even lined the city streets. It wasn’t just the boy’s young appearance, though that had certainly made him stand out; Louis saw people of all ages wandering the city, looking for money and food. His looks were nothing special, neither in his clothing nor in his features. Sure, he looked so utterly unprepared for his circumstances, but Louis was convinced there was something else – something greater – about the boy sitting beside him that had so keenly caught his attention.   
  
The same greater something that had caused him to be enough of a fool to leave his wallet in the pocket of the coat he had given away, even after he had been so certain that he had moved his wallet to the pocket of his trousers earlier that evening.   
  
Louis wasn’t sure what this greater something was – fate, perhaps some would call it – but he didn’t very much care. Whatever the something actually was wasn’t much of a concern when the boy was already seated in his living room in the very, very early hours of Christmas morning.   
  
And it still wasn’t a concern when the show’s credits were displaying on screen with a festive tune and Louis found himself wondering aloud, “Is this your first Christmas on your own?”   
  
Green eyes jumped from the television to meet Louis’ gaze for a moment before falling to the limp blanket between them. A slow nod was his only response.   
  
“And you’re how old? Eighteen?”   
  
The curls shook hesitantly, and Louis cocked an eyebrow. “Not until February,” Harry admitted with a sigh, his shoulders sagging and his eyes landing anywhere but on the older boy.   
  
Louis swallowed thickly and dryly at the younger boy’s words. Seventeen. He was only seventeen years old, and he was living on his own, out on the streets. Where was his family? Seventeen-year-olds couldn’t just roam the streets without their parents noticing; cops would be called, flyers would be put out, and search parties might even be formed if the kid were considered missing for too long. But here this boy was, somehow flying beneath the radar at Christmastime. It didn’t make sense.   
  
“Aren’t your parents looking for you?” Louis blurted out before he could stop the words. The blood rushed to his cheeks, and he stammered to rephrase his question, “I mean, you must have some sort of family. They must be worried, yeah?”   
  
But he regretted even asking that, as he watched the boy’s jade eyes cloud over, turning darker with a sour emotion. A smile was far from his lips, as they pursed into a tight, thin frown of sorts, and he shook his head with more force and certainty than he had any other time since their lives had collided. “They’d actually have to care enough to be worried,” he replied, his voice weighed down with bitterness and grief. The grief outweighed the bitterness.   
  
“I’m sorry, mate,” was all Louis could manage in comfort, reaching over to squeeze the younger boy’s knee through the duvet. He let his hand linger for a moment as he looked up and was surprised to find those green eyes staring straight at him. They left as quickly as they had arrived, darting back swiftly to settle upon the television that was starting up a new holiday special.   
  
A minute passed unused, and Louis found his curiosity getting the best of him for what felt like the umpteenth time that evening. “Where’ve you been staying?”   
  
Harry didn’t respond immediately, and he glanced over at Louis before parting his lips as though debating whether or not this was information he should share or not. “You know that flyover just outside of town, a couple blocks west of the station I met you at the other night?” he asked, and Louis could only nod, relishing in the boy’s voice; it was the most the boy had spoken at one time yet. His responses thus far had remained short and vague. “Well,” he continued with a slight sigh, “I’ve been sleeping under there.”   
  
“Under the flyover?” Louis didn’t want to believe it. He couldn’t even count the number of times he had driven on that overpass in the past few weeks. Too many times to count on two hands, and the thought that he had driven right past Harry in a rainstorm or even during one of the early snows had his stomach churning and flip-flopping unhappily.   
  
“Yeah,” Harry confirmed with a nod, a shrug, and a smile on his lips that seemed to say  _but it’s okay._  
  
But that wasn’t okay. It left Louis with the taste of bile in his throat, and he shifted on the couch until he was facing Harry, his legs curled beneath him. “Harry,” he started, a crease blemishing his brow as his blue eyes searched out those green ones.   
  
“Hmm?”   
  
“Can you do something for me?” Louis asked, adding on, “Consider it repayment for crashing here tonight.”   
  
This got the younger boy’s attention, and he shifted his focus fully from the television to Louis. “Okay,” he agreed before even hearing the terms. “What is it?”   
  
“Just… be here when I wake up, alright?”   
  
Harry stared at him for a lengthy moment, staring into those pools of blue before he knew they would disappear behind their eyelids for a night’s rest. He spared a glance at the clock on the wall, eyes shifting to the lit tree in the corner, bouncing from the telly to scamper across the duvet covering his lap and all the way back up to meet two questioning orbs of light azure. They were waiting for him, waiting for his reply, wishing for an accord.   
  
And before Louis could rise from the couch, wish his new friend a goodnight, and head to bed, Harry replied with a gentle smile, “Yeah, I think that’s alright.”   
  
~*~


	4. Day Three: Looking For

It was with a start and heavy, labored breaths that Harry woke to the darkness and unfamiliar surroundings on his second night in Louis and Zayn’s flat. He blinked into the darkness and willed his breathing back to normal and his heart to stop flipping about in his chest so worriedly, as his location slowly registered with his racing mind. His eyes were wide as he took in the growingly familiar setting of the living room – the decorated tree in the corner, the television set by the window, the low coffee table that was littered with magazines and newspapers and books, the single chair that sat at an angle beside the couch, the framed Starry Night print that hung on the wall by the main door, the coat rack beside it. Their looming shadows slowly morphed into familiar shapes, things that didn’t look nearly as frightening after a second glance around the darkness.   
  
He closed his eyes for a moment and relaxed back into the sinking cushions of the couch, one hand still clutching at the chest of his shirt, just above his heart. “You’re okay,” he whispered, exhales still much louder than his words. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.”   
  
Yet despite the reassuring words that Harry continued to let out in a chain of mindless whispers, his heart continued thumping loudly in his chest, shaking his ribs and forcing his breaths in and out much faster than necessary.   
  
Pushing the duvet to the end of the couch, Harry rolled onto stumbling feet and made his way through the flat to the bathroom at the end of the short hall. He didn’t bother closing the door before finding the sink and turning on the tap, letting it run cold. His hands cupped beneath the gushing water and he watched as the cool liquid filled his palms and then trickled over the edges and down his fingers and back to the drain in a continuous cycle.   
  
He watched and he watched and he was stuck in a sort of trance as he noticed how the moonlight caught in the running water with a slight shimmer. His heart began to slow, if only a little, and it was his ragged breaths that had him leaning over the sink and splashing the water against his face. It felt good, and although it didn’t have the desired effect, Harry found himself repeating the action and not caring as some of the water ran down his arms. It made messy trails all the way to the tips of his elbows, where it than pooled before falling and hitting his bare feet, drop by drop.   
  
Harry was still splashing his face, trying to douse away the vivid, too real images from his nightmares, when a soft knock sounded on the partly open bathroom door. But it was too soft, too quiet, and it went unnoticed under the sound of the running faucet.   
  
“Harry?”  
  
The boy at the sink jumped at the voice, clearly startled as his wide eyes jerked toward the doorway to find Louis standing just outside of the bathroom. The older boy was clad in only a pair of rather tight-fitting boxers, and his features were etched with concern that Harry couldn’t help but feel was undeserved. He glanced away quickly, ripping his eyes from Louis’ nearly bare frame and back to the tap that he switched off with now sweaty, trembling hands.   
  
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he started in greeting, his face downcast and dripping.   
  
“You didn’t. I mean, I’m kind of a light sleeper anyway,” Louis responded with a shrug, though it didn’t stop the curly-haired boy from sputtering out another apology, which he promptly wrote off. “Are you alright, Harry?”   
  
“I-I,” Harry stammered through his words as he blinked harshly at the porcelain before him. He could feel the older boy’s eyes on him, could feel them boring into him for a response, for a proper answer, for understanding. But this boy was still a stranger, and as much as Harry wanted to give in to the heat pricking at the corners of his eyes, he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not yet, not right then, and so he finished curtly and quietly, “I’m fine.”   
  
“Really?” Louis asked, and Harry saw the towel being offered to him before he realized that the older boy had even walked toward him. “You don’t look too fine.”   
  
Harry took the towel with a hushed word of thanks. “I’m fine,” he insisted, patting his face dry. “Just a… just a bad dream.”   
  
“Mm. Had one of those the other night.”   
  
“Yeah?” He glanced up from the towel.   
  
Louis nodded, as he got comfortable against the edge of the counter, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Yeah,” he said quietly, a light, humored sort of smile seemingly gracing his lips in remembrance. “I woke up screaming so loud that Zayn came running into my room to wake me up.”   
  
“What was it about?” Harry wondered, thankful for the distraction.   
  
“It was stupid, really,” Louis admitted after a chuckle, ducking his head slightly. “I just, I don’t know, it was crazy. My one sister somehow ended up kidnapped and… all these awful things happened and she was nearly dead by the end of it and it just felt so, so real. So vivid.” He trailed off for a moment, stilling before shaking his head and meeting Harry’s eyes once more. “It was just unnerving, I guess is all. But that’s what I get for watching psychological thrillers before bed, yeah?”   
  
“I guess,” Harry agreed with a quiet laugh, though it was light and artificial and Louis noticed.   
  
“Yours was… it was more real than that, wasn’t it?” he asked.   
  
The question caught the younger boy off guard, and his eyes lifted from the sink to find blue piercing into him. He caught the eyes with his own and stared for a moment; those eyes, they weren’t judgmental and they didn’t seem to hold any form of malice or pent-up hatred that was just waiting to burst. They were, instead, gentle and kind and yearning for understanding. The discovery wasn’t something Harry had expected to stumble upon in such unfamiliar eyes, and the surprise of finding it there, in the eyes of a stranger of all places, was enough to send him out of the room with a shake of the head and a quiet apology.   
  
Yet for some reason, he kind of expected to hear the footsteps that followed after him, bare feet padding across wood floors to catch up to him.   
  
Harry didn’t stop, though. He didn’t stop to turn around and face the kind stranger he knew would be right behind him. He didn’t stop until he had already tugged on his pair of shoes and was pulling his wool coat – which  _really isn’t yours_ , he reminded himself – from the rack near the door.   
  
“You’re not… leaving, are you?” the question stilled him with a hand on the doorknob.   
  
He turned and really shouldn’t have been surprised to find those eyes staring at him, but he hadn’t thought to see genuine worry stamped across Louis’ features.   
  
“You, you shouldn’t, though,” Louis spoke up quickly, words rushing into a jumbled mess. “I mean earlier, on the weather, they were saying that a new system’s moving through and they said it could bring the worst snow we’ve seen in a few years with lots of ice and there’s – ”  
  
“Louis.”   
  
“Supposed to – what?”   
  
“I’m not leaving,” Harry admitted quietly and with averted eyes, as though he didn’t feel he should say such words. “I just need some air, okay?”   
  
Louis looked at him for a moment, as though considering, nodded, and turned away, not saying a thing as he disappeared back into his room. Harry watched with curiosity for a moment. Louis, he had learned, was fairly talkative and seemed to get attached to things very quickly; it seemed… odd for him to leave without a goodbye.  _But you don’t know him_ , the thought fluttered across Harry’s mind, and he was out the door without paying the apparent oddity any more consideration.   
  
Making his way down the steps of the complex, Harry pulled the coat a bit more firmly around his frame, did up the first few buttons, and shoved his hands as far down into the pockets as he could, bracing himself for the cold that was surely awaiting him. The cold that, he hoped, would drive away the flashes of memories and real nightmares that were still taunting his restless mind.   
  
Relaxation washed over him as he stopped at the front walk. The air was cool and there was just enough of a nip to the wind to make Harry shudder at first feel. He exhaled slowly, letting his breath billow out and dance around him with a visibility akin to smoke. Green eyes followed the path of his breath, watching it curl and twist as it mixed with the cold. He let his thoughts wander, letting his mind focus on his surroundings, noting the misty, dull grey that had replaced the dark navy of the nighttime sky. Clouds blanketed overhead, making a thick ceiling above the still sleeping city and keeping the sun from fully breaking through to wake the world below.  
  
His thoughts were lost in seconds, drowned by the change in scenery as his body rushed to help his overwhelmed senses. The cold was too bitter against his skin, the silence of the morning too unnerving to his ears, the damp smell too unwelcome, and the sight of nobody else nearby was too alarming for his eyes at first glance. He was alone, free to his thoughts, yet the glimpses of his nightmares were fading with each passing second, drifting to the forgotten depths of his mind with each gust of wind that smacked him in the cheeks. His skin was burning from the cold, but his heart was finally beating at a normal pace once more, his breaths no longer ragged or shallow.   
  
He spared another glance around; the street was empty. The sounds of a car rumbling to life drifted from a few blocks over, but there was no movement nearby and no sources of sound too close, except for –   
  
“You don’t move too far too fast, do you?”   
  
Harry turned at the humored voice. Louis was coming down the front steps, bundled up with a coat, scarf, gloves and all, as well as a light, albeit sleepy, smile to top it all off. He nearly bounced his way over to the curly-haired boy, who, oddly enough, was smiling right back at him.   
  
“Guess not,” Harry replied softly.   
  
The older boy’s smile grew just slightly as he came to Harry’s side. “Here,” he said, holding out a spare, cream scarf, “thought you might like this. Just ‘cause you need some air doesn’t mean you need to freeze, right?”   
  
Harry shrugged. “S’pose not,” he agreed, accepting the scarf with a nod of thanks. And perhaps the nippy cold that morning was muddling his thoughts a bit too much, for he wrapped the garment around his neck without any debate. He knew he’d be giving it back as soon as they returned to the flat anyway, though; it’s not like he had any plans on keeping it. No reason for guilt, right?   
  
“This the only reason you came out here?” he couldn’t help but wonder.   
  
Those blue eyes seemed to light up at the question, but Louis only shrugged. “Thought you might like some company,” he said, as though it were the simplest thing in the world. “Besides, you never know what you’ll find out here at four-thirty in the morning.”   
  
He chuckled at his own statement, but Harry only offered a short laugh in return. “It’s not as bad as you’d think,” he responded, his smile fading as he looked back around the street. “I mean it’s not like the streets are full of crazies until the sun comes up. It’s really just… dead.”   
  
“Yeah?” Louis asked and took a few steps down the block, slowing until Harry fell into step beside him.   
  
“Yeah.”   
  
“And you’re so sure of this because… ?”  
  
Harry didn’t even respond. He just turned and met Louis’ eyes with a look that had the older man ducking away with a hint of a blush. “Right,” he said, biting his tongue. “Right. But it’s not like you’re up and wandering the streets all night. You do sleep at night, don’t you?”  
  
“Most nights,” Harry answered with a sigh, shrugging away worried blue eyes. “Some nights it’s easier just to… move, to walk around. Sometimes it’s safer that way.”   
  
“Safer,” Louis stated but didn’t question, and Harry watched out of the corner of his eye as he mulled it over, tossing about the idea before, “Makes sense. Probably warmer sometimes too, huh?”   
  
“Yeah, definitely. I haven’t had to deal with much colder than this yet, luckily.”   
  
“Well, good. That’s good,” Louis settled, ending softly and with a nod of the head as he flicked his eyes toward Harry before promptly shifting them away.   
  
Harry didn’t miss the look, though. He saw the way Louis’ eyes fell on him with a mix of compassion and hopefulness; hopefulness that he wouldn’t have to endure anything colder than this, out on the streets. And as much as Harry hated to think about it – sticking around at Louis and Zayn’s flat for much longer – he couldn’t help the little flutter that scampered through his stomach and seemed to send his heart flying.  _Flying?_ He jerked his gaze to the ground and left it there, hands shoved into his pockets and chin ducked into the scarf, which smelled like… it smelled like Louis. It was a scent his nose was beginning to recognize, even after only two days. A hint of vanilla with an undertone of fading aftershave. It was sweet and welcoming and it tickled his senses, and it was quickly growing all too familiar. Harry practically had to glare in order to wipe the smile from his lips.   
  
A comfortable silence fell over the two as they continued on down the street, their feet turning corners and heading the same direction without ever once consulting. Their eyes never met, though Harry could feel those orbs of curious, wandering blue fall upon him from time to time, studying him; he let them.   
  
By the time they came to a stop at a little park, the sky had already begun to turn, grey becoming marbled with light pinks and warm oranges and yellows. Morning was slowly encroaching, but the signs of the world beginning to stir didn’t stop the two from making their way to a pair of swings in the middle of the playground.   
  
The chains whined in protest as they began to swing, but somehow Harry didn’t find the sound at all annoying. Strangely, it was comforting, just as comforting as the simple action of leisurely pumping his legs back and forth to keep the swing moving. He spared his surroundings a few glances as he swung, taking in the little jungle gym several yards away, the double slides beside it, the maze of little tunnels below, and the rusting playground roundabout to their left. He’d been here before. He recognized the slides and the tunnels and even the swings they were currently on. He had –  
  
“I used to come here,” he spoke aloud before he could even think to catch the words. He turned just enough to find Louis staring at him, curiosity swimming in blue. He bit his lip, as he looked away, his eyes darting about the familiar setting once more. He could lie, the thought passed his mind. He could make up a story; tell Louis that he used to visit with a young cousin or something to a similar degree.   
  
But he didn’t.   
  
There was something that twisted the false words atop his tongue until they were bare and true, and he found himself continuing quietly, “Earlier on, back when I was first… on my own, I would come here. A few nights I slept in those tunnels over there.”   
  
“Only a few nights?”   
  
“I overslept one morning,” Harry remembered with a lighthearted chuckle, his lips peeling into a grin. “And this woman and her son found me. She was going ballistic, I swear, going on about how this is a place for children to play and not a motel for bums and beggars.”   
  
Louis let out a gentle laugh beside him, and it wasn’t at all patronizing. “I take it you never came back here after that?” he asked, turning to face the curly-haired boy.   
  
“Not once,” Harry assented with a shake of the head, curls bouncing with the movement. “It wasn’t a major loss, though. If I’m being honest, those tunnels aren’t all that comfy, believe it or not.”   
  
Laughter fell from Louis’ lips again and Harry tried to ignore the way the sound warmed his insides, the way that laughter made his heart beat just a teensy bit faster. He willed the sensations away with a hard blink, but he was quick to reopen his eyes and let them fall back upon the blue-eyed stranger beside him.   
  
“I’ll take your word for it,” Louis said, shaking his head as he looked over at the small grouping of plastic tunnels. “They don’t look very appealing.”   
  
“They’re not,” Harry agreed, and added on with a shrug, “but they were dry when it was storming, and I wasn’t looking for much.”   
  
“And how about now?”   
  
Harry’s brow furrowed at the question. “What do you mean?”  
  
“You said you weren’t looking for much back then. What are you looking for now?” Louis asked, and Harry wasn’t sure if the tinge of pink clinging to his cheeks was owned by a blush or by the cold.   
  
He pulled his eyes away from the man beside him and set them on the ground, watching as the mulch became steadier with his slowing motions. His legs failed to pump and it was with feet skidding across the dirt that his swing came to a stop entirely, his thoughts following along with it. “I don’t know,” he admitted in a muted voice, shrugging one shoulder. “I guess I’m just looking for something that’ll feel like home.”   
  
There was only silence at first, stretching on for seconds that felt much too long, before Louis let out a hum of understanding. Minutes had passed before the older man’s voice met the younger’s ears. “Harry?”   
  
The curly-haired boy raised his eyes from the ground to find Louis bringing his swing to a stop beside him. His blue eyes were skirting across the ground, jumping from the swing to Harry to something vague in the distance and back again, looking – dare he say – nervous. The older boy was worrying his lower lip and Harry almost reached a hand over to pat him on the leg, to tell him not to worry.   
  
He almost did, but instead he only tightened his grip around the chain of his swing. “What’s the matter?”   
  
“Nothing’s really the matter,” Louis said and finally released his lip, much to Harry’s relief. “I was just thinking and… I don’t know. It’s stupid. You probably won’t want to since we’re still practically strangers and everything, but I was thinking and if you need or want someone to help you find something that’ll feel like home, I-I… I’d like to help, if you’ll let me.”   
  
Harry breathed in deeply at the offer.  _Another offer_ , he thought mindlessly as his eyes began to run around every inch of the park, raking across every surface. But this offer was different from any of the others. Louis wasn’t offering him food or money or a coat or even a few cushions on which to sleep. He was offering to help.   
  
Help was something that did not have any tangible value, something that didn’t have any weighable or countable guilt to tag along with it.   
  
Food had a face value cost when bought and shared, as did a coat and even the couch. But help… help was so very different. Help had no guarantees of success, only the hope for a decent, desirable outcome. That was something Harry could handle, and it most definitely something he could use – help.   
  
So it took no more than thirty seconds for green to find its way back to blue, and he accepted with a toothy grin, “I’d like that.”   
  
~*~


	5. Day Four: An Inconvenience

“Mate, have you gone mental or what?” 

Louis scoffed at the question and flung a chip across the table at his blond-haired friend. It hit the other man square in the nose, and Louis couldn’t help a small smile of victory as he replied in as bitter a voice as he could manage. “I’ve not gone mental, Niall. Maybe I’m just trying to help the boy out, did you ever think about that?” 

“Yeah, I did,” Niall said as he picked up the fallen chip and popped it into his mouth. “I thought about it, but then I called bullshit.” 

Louis crossed his arms at that, sending a glare across their nearly empty trays of food. “Care to elaborate on that one, Blondie?” 

“Sure,” Niall assented while wiping the grease from his hands with a wrinkled, brown napkin. “It’s pretty simple, really. I mean you go on all the time about how you always treat everyone equally, no matter familiarity. Some shit about not picking favorites with your sisters, which I get, but you told me you treat strangers and new friends that way too. And you do, from what I’ve seen. But not this Harry kid. You’ve picked him out of the crowd, called favorites, something you never do, Lou. So clearly,” he paused to take a sip of his soda, “you’ve either gone completely mental, or you’ve gone soft on the boy. You tell me.” 

Louis blanched, choking on his own drink and sputtering through a few coughs before finally ending in a bout of nervous chuckling.  _Nervous?_ he wondered, chuckling even more at that; what was he nervous about anyway? It was a stupid accusation, which he was quick to tell the other man. “Nialler, that’s got to be one of the stupidest things I’ve ever heard you suggest,” he told him with a shake of the head.

“Is it though?” 

“ _Yes_ ,” Louis insisted, ignoring the way Niall’s blue eyes bore into him with a knowing look. 

“Is it really?” Niall cocked one haughty brow, which really said a lot more than Louis felt that it should have. He looked away from the blond with a sigh and let his fingers play with the stubby, burnt ends of the chips that he had refused to eat. 

He kept his eyes averted as he spoke toward his tray. “It really is, Ni. I’m just helping the lad out, okay? Nothing more, nothing less.” 

“Right,” Niall acquiesced after a rather lengthy moment, eyes skirting across Louis’ face as though trying to find fault. Whether he found it or not, Louis couldn’t tell, for the blond only shrugged, tacked on a toothy smile, and leaned back in his chair. “Nothing more,” he echoed, “but it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve gone soft on a bloke.” 

Louis sighed at that and couldn’t even keep his eyes from rolling at his friend’s words. “Oh come off it, will ya?”

“I’m just saying is all,” Niall replied through a laugh and held up both of his hands in mock surrender. “We all know you’ve got a thing for guys every now and then, no matter how head-over-heels you might’ve been for Eleanor – ”

“Emphasis on the past tense,” Louis muttered. 

“Yeah, you really need to talk to her, you know that, right?” 

“I know, I  _know_ , I just…”

“Can’t right now,” the blond supplied, offering a weak smile across the table. “I know – we all know. Zayn seems to be losing his patience though, so you might want to talk to her sometime soon before he lets something slip.”

Louis nodded, albeit solemnly. “I will,” he promised. 

“Good!” Niall clapped his hands together. “Now about this Harry fellow… Zayn tells me he doesn’t talk much.” 

“You and Zayn actually find the time to talk nowadays?” 

“Shut it,” Niall snapped, though his cheeks were struck by an undeniable shade of humiliated pink. 

A smirk pulled at the brunette’s lips, but he said no more about it. He could tease Niall and Zayn about the rather new, far more active part of their relationship whenever he wanted. How long Harry would be around to even be the topic of conversation, though, was uncertain; Louis could wake up tomorrow to find the curly-haired boy had snuck out during the night. 

Harry was still jumpy and nervous and never wanting to meet Louis’ eyes when he spoke, after all. He was still behaving like he should just leave, get out, no matter how many times Louis told him it was okay – that he was welcome, that he wasn’t imposing. The boy was hard to convince, though. 

“So he’s shy,” Louis answered with a shrug. “Not everyone likes to talk as much as you do, Nialler.” 

The blond man took no offense at such a statement; instead he only chuckled, nodding his head in agreement. “Not many do,” he said. “But he’s young, yeah? Zayn said he looks too young even for uni.” 

“He’s old enough.” 

“What’s that, nineteen?”

“Um, eighteen,” Louis stammered out quickly. “He’s eighteen.” Niall and Zayn didn’t need to know that Harry was only seventeen. Not yet, anyway. Louis knew that Zayn wouldn’t rest until he had thrust the boy into the care of some sort of guardian, regardless of all circumstances, if he knew. Zayn would flip and probably send Harry back onto the streets and just no; he didn’t need to know yet. It could wait. 

“Eighteen? Jesus Christ, Lou, he’s practically a baby,” Niall shook his head, Irish accent thick in his lilting voice as he trailed into laughter. “What’s he doing on the streets?” 

“He’s…” Louis began to answer only to quickly cut himself off, realizing he didn’t know. He had no idea as to why Harry was on the streets, what had happened to throw a young boy into such an unfortunate situation, not even how long he had been without a home. All of the possible reasons running about his head were more than enough to churn his stomach, and he swallowed thickly as he jerked his eyes back toward his friend, smiling stiffly. “I-I don’t actually know,” he admitted, voice dropping. “I guess it just hasn’t come up in conversation yet.” 

“That,” Niall agreed after another sip of his drink, “or he doesn't want you – or anyone for that matter – to know.” 

“Right, ‘cause eighteen year old boys choose to be homeless, Ni.” 

“Nah, but babies don’t always make the best decisions.” 

A snort escaped Louis and he couldn’t resist another rolling of his eyes. “You’re forgetting that we’re only twenty, Niall, that’s hardly – ”

“Pardon, you’re twenty-one now, mate, or did ya forget you just had a birthday because you were too busy playing savior to a homeless lad?” 

“Regardless, that’s hardly old enough for you to go around calling an eighteen year old a baby.” 

“Ah fuck it, he’s still young and you’re still soft on him, that’s all there is to it.” 

“And I,” Louis heaved a sigh as he stood from the table, lifting his tray as he sent Niall a look that was nothing short of miffed, “have to get back to work.” 

“Internship,” Niall corrected. 

“Sure does feel like work.” 

“You get paid for work, not for this.” 

“Yeah, well, whatever you want to call it, I still have to get back,” Louis settled as he shrugged on his coat. “Work, internship, they’ve both got a schedule. See you later, yeah?” 

“Maybe,” Niall agreed and followed Louis’ actions, tray already disposed of and coat snug around his frame. He shouldered his backpack and clapped his friend on the back as they passed out of the restaurant and into the Monday afternoon, a wicked grin tricking up the corners of his lips. “No guarantees you’ll see Zayn tonight, though.” 

**

Louis didn’t see Zayn that night. 

He walked through the front door of 243C Mayberry Street that evening to find the flat completely empty. Or so he thought, until he recognized the sound of the shower running in the bath. His instinct told him to assume it was Zayn. It wasn’t unheard of for the dark-haired lad to shower so late in the day after all, especially when he had plans for the evening. 

But the sight of a ratty old black backpack still slouched beside the couch told Louis to assume otherwise. The second his eyes had landed on the bag, the irrational fear that had welled in his chest quickly dissipated. 

What did he have to fear, anyway? Harry had never arranged to stay for any designated period of time. He had made no promises in his few days spent in the flat. The most the curly-haired boy had done was mention that he might like Louis’ help in finding something more permanent – something that felt like home. It was more of an agreement really, and well… that still had to count as something, right? People don’t just accept help and then bail. At least, Louis hoped they didn’t. He particularly hoped that Harry wasn’t the type of person to do such a thing. 

And regardless of all of that, Louis had no right to be fearful of Harry’s very possible, sudden, and unannounced departure. He had no claims to the boy, no bond, no ties. The two were not even so much as friends. Strangers do not mourn each other’s departure. 

 _Or at least they shouldn’t_ , Louis thought rather mindlessly as he shed his work clothes. He yanked off his dress shirt and trousers with a sigh, tossing them into the hamper by his closet. He shouldn’t feel any upset or loss if this curly-haired boy were to suddenly pick up and leave. Yet here he was, his mind turning over the possibility and fearing what would come of the lad. Would he find someplace warm to stay, if he were to run off? Would he be able to afford enough food to keep his body satiated? Would his clothes be enough to withhold the bitter weeks of winter just waiting to hit the town? 

Shaking his head, Louis tugged on a simple off-white jumper and stepped into his pair of jeans from the day before. He ran a hand through his hair and shuffled out of his bedroom, leaving his silly worries behind. They could wait. Wait until there was at least a proper reason to worry. 

The shower didn’t stop for another fifteen minutes, during which time Louis had ordered too much Chinese delivery, cleaned up the mess that Zayn had left in the kitchen, and settled in front of the telly with his feet propped up on the edge of the coffee table. He was flipping through the channels to find something even remotely tolerable to watch and keeping an impatient eye on the clock when the bathroom door swung open a while later, hinges squealing in protest. 

He willed himself not to turn and find the curly-haired boy until he was actually out of the hallway and in the living room. He kept his eyes trained on the television and waited, listening as bare feet padded against the hardwood floors, their unique sounds new and unfamiliar. 

“Oh, hey,” a low, not yet quite familiar voice caught Louis’ attention. “You’re home.” 

“Yeah,” Louis said with a smile as he turned and found a pair of green eyes blinking at him. “Hi.”

“When’d you get in?” 

Louis spared the clock on the wall a quick glance. Twenty-five minutes. But he shrugged and told Harry simply enough, “Just ‘bout fifteen or so. Not very long at all.” 

“Oh, well, I, uh, hope I didn’t keep you waiting long, if you needed the toilet or something,” Harry began sputtering, words actually rushing out so quickly that Louis almost missed them. “I was just going to take a quick shower, and I guess I lost track of the time and how long I was in, and I – ”

“Harry.” 

“Was only going to – sorry?” 

The boy stopped with his mouth ajar, words still jumbling up across his tongue and left unsaid at Louis’ cue. The older boy couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight, a humored grin sweeping across his lips. “It’s okay,” he assured him, nodding once or twice for good measure. “You’re allowed to use the shower, there’s nothing wrong with that. I told you that. And don’t worry about losing track of the time or some shit. I do it all the time. You’re alright, Harry, okay?” 

Harry looked at him uncertainly for a moment, green eyes skirting around his face, shifting about his features, before nodding once. “Okay,” he spoke, softly but firmly. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” Louis reciprocated and motioned toward the empty cushions on the couch before letting his eyes drift back to the television. Harry opted for the single chair beside the couch instead, easing down gingerly into the cushions that Louis knew were far from comfortable. He watched but said nothing other than, “How do you feel about Chinese?” 

The younger boy blinked at him once, confusion settling with a crease across his brow. “Erm, it’s an alright language?” 

“I meant the food, you tosser!” Louis clarified through his laughter, chucking a throw pillow at the curly-haired boy. 

It hit him with a brush to the shoulder, and Harry brought it to his lap as a smile tugged at his lips. A small, unbelievably tiny smile it was, but it twitched to life across his lips and seemed to make Louis’ stomach tighten with elation and a bout of success. Every smile he earned from Harry was nothing short of a reward, after all. 

“Oh,” Harry resumed, his cheeks darkening by just a smidge, “the food’s alright, too.” 

“Good.” 

“… Why?”

“Because some of it should be here in about five minutes,” Louis answered. “Ordered more than enough for two, so I hope you wouldn’t mind helping me dig through a bit of it, yeah?” 

Harry stared at him for a minute, as though considering, before the smile graced his features once more. “Alright,” he said and tucked a finger beneath the edge of the green beanie that was holding back most of his curls. He scratched at his scalp, his eyes ducking instead of his head, and then looked back to Louis with the slightest of smirks ghosting across his lips. “Good thing I’m here then,” he added, green striking blue so abruptly that Louis nearly forgot to exhale. “Wouldn’t want all that extra food to go to waste.” 

“Right, wouldn’t want that,” Louis echoed quietly, eyes unmoving. Their gazes lingered, locked together for several seconds before the older boy cracked and smiled cheekily. “Lucky me then, yeah?” 

Harry didn’t say anything in response. He only turned his attention to the television with a short shake of the head, lips sealed. 

Though Louis could have sworn those green eyes were shining bright with a smile. 

**

Cartons half-full of cold food littered the coffee table a couple hours later, alongside plates covered with sticky sauce and bits of rice. The food had long since been delivered, devoured (mostly, that is), and entirely forgotten, the two young men instead more interested in the  _Back to the Future_ trilogy airing on one of the film channels. They had tuned in about forty minutes into the first movie but were engrossed nonetheless. Harry more so than Louis, as the curly-haired boy had admitted to never before seeing the movie, despite all of Louis’ horrified shouts of disbelief. 

Harry had since moved to join Louis on the couch, though he kept a cushion between them. Whether such action was only natural or because the boy was still so reserved, Louis wasn’t sure. But he couldn’t blame him. As much as he felt that he knew the young man – the  _boy_  – at the other end of the couch, he had to remind himself that they were still very much strangers. 

He didn’t even know the lad’s surname, after all. 

He was Harry. Only Harry. And for now, that was okay. It was somehow fitting to look down at the end of the couch, see the boy, and be able to pin only a first name to him. It was casual and still a tad impersonal, but it fit. It left the air of mystery around the boy intact – the mystery that Louis hoped to break through, piece by piece, one story at a time. 

If Harry were willing to talk, to stick around long enough to share something,  _anything_. 

“Can I… ask you something?” Louis finally spoke up a while later, during an advertisement break someway through the second part of the trilogy. 

Harry answered with a gentle hum of approval, shifting his eyes from the telly to Louis, chin left perched atop his hugged knee. He lifted one eyebrow. 

Louis cleared his throat before speaking aloud, his voice so soft it was almost lost to the stillness of the room. “How long have you been on your own?” 

“Oh,” Harry bit his lip at the question. His eyes lowered to the floor, disappearing again as though they weren’t permitted to look elsewhere. “Um,” his voice began with a shake, “a few months ago. September.” His gaze stayed averted, never meeting the blue that was waiting to catch even just a hint of green. 

“That’s a while then, huh?” Louis couldn’t help the sigh that escaped him. “For seventeen, I mean. My mum was still driving me to school everyday at seventeen,” he chuckled, hoping his words didn’t sound patronizing. “Can’t even imagine being on my own back then.” 

Harry only shrugged, trying on a smile. “It’s not so bad,” he said, finally meeting Louis’ lingering gaze with his own, though only fleetingly. “Just the luck of the draw, I guess.” 

“But still,” Louis insisted. 

“It’s really not that bad,” Harry tried to assure him, though the smile that sat upon his lips was everything but convincing. “Some days are better than others, but…” He trailed off, shrugging away the words that came to mind too late. “C’est la vie, yeah?” 

His eyes stared back at Louis, but they were empty. Void. Lacking conviction, uncertain of the words that they were supposed to be backing. His words were so indifferent, so apathetic, but there was a note of despair lying underneath them that hinted otherwise. A trace of truth, a glimpse of a shattered boy that left Louis’ heart stuttering unhappily in his chest. 

“Did you stay anywhere since then?” he wondered, hopeful for an affirmation. “Like a shelter or a friend’s house or, I don’t know, somewhere?” 

The younger boy shrunk back slightly, perhaps out of shame as he shook his head. “I tried a shelter for a few nights, but I… I don’t know,” he admitted quietly, brow contracting in confusion at himself. His eyes searched the ground for answers that weren’t there before easing their way up to sit on the coffee table, crease smoothed from his brow. “I guess I just didn’t want to be that dependent, you know?” 

Louis didn’t respond at first, and Harry glanced at him quickly before chuckling at himself, a bit sardonically. “I bet that sounds pretty stupid, huh?” 

“No,” Louis was quick to shake his head. “No, it’s not that stupid. But you know, Harry, it’s not… it’s not wrong to ask for help, or weak to accept it. Sometimes we all have to be a little dependent. I mean, you can make it pretty well on your own, but sometimes you need a hand, yeah? 

“Sometimes,” Harry agreed, nearly inaudible. 

“Just like sometimes,” Louis tried with a deep breath, “you might need something a bit warmer and dryer than a makeshift den under the flyover.” 

The boy’s brow knitted together at the statement but soon relaxed with understanding. “Maybe sometimes,” he admitted, though he kept his lower lip stuck beneath his upper teeth, uncertain. “Only if it weren’t a bother. I-I…” He broke off suddenly and turned away, eyes falling to the floor once more, his voice following with it. “The last thing I want to be is an inconvenience.” 

“You wouldn’t be,” Louis was almost too quick to reassure him. He sighed as he saw the other boy’s shoulders sag at the phrase, as though he had heard such words before but never experienced the promise. Such words often held empty promises, after all. 

“Harry,” Louis started gently, placing a hand on the boy’s forearm. The touch gained Harry’s attention enough for their eyes to meet, and it was enough for Louis to continue. “Believe me, Harry,” he said –  _urged_ , “you’re not an inconvenience. You’re anything but, really.” 

Green was twinkling with an emotion Louis couldn’t quite place, and yet the sight still had his chest tightening. “Yeah?” Harry wondered, the single word cracking as he spoke. 

“Yeah,” Louis confirmed with a toothy grin. “I wouldn’t be letting you crash on my couch indefinitely if you were, would I?” 

The curly-haired boy’s lips shook with a smile. “Maybe you’re just being nice,” he suggested. 

“Maybe,” Louis nearly agreed, “but I’m not nice to inconveniences.” He laughed lightly, the sound fresh and more than welcoming to shift the atmosphere of the room. Grabbing the remote, the older of the two switched the volume back on and straightened up against the cushions. “C’mon,” he said and jerked his head toward the telly, “show’s back on and you’ve missed quite a bit by now.” 

The two settled back in for the remainder of the movie, neither saying another word on the matter. But from the corner of his eye, Louis watched as Harry relaxed against the couch, unwinding from himself. Minutes passed before he was fully unraveled, getting cozy against the cushions and growing comfortable in his place – not just on the couch, but as a part of this place, of this world, of Louis’ life. 

~*~


	6. Day Five: Normal

Harry sighed as he spared his reflection another glance. It was the third time he had laid his eyes on the reflective glass in the past minute, and he was still unsatisfied.

It’s not as though he were dissatisfied with his appearance, necessarily; he wasn’t trying to impress anyone. He didn’t care much how his hair lay that day or even whether or not anyone found him attractive. He just didn’t  _care_.

What bothered him was the boy staring back at him. He didn’t look familiar.

He recognized bits of him, of course – the curly brown hair, despite how shaggy it had become, the color of the eyes that gazed at him, even the stance he held, standing there with the unfamiliar backdrop of Louis and Zayn’s bathroom.

But there were circles under the eyes staring back at him, tired and worried, which only emphasized the dullness that had overtaken the green that used to shimmer with curiosity and excitement. The eyes he saw were nothing like he remembered.

There was a hollowness to his face, his skin looking too tight against his cheekbones, his jaw too profound. The thinness he saw in his features was only accentuated the farther down his eyes drifted; the clothes he wore were baggy on his frame. They weren’t baggy by choice, which was what irked him. In fact, the shirt he sported was a spare, from Louis, and a size too small. It should have been snug against his torso, but it hung, loose and not at all fitting. And he’d had to take in his belt by two notches since leaving home, simply to keep his jeans from slipping too far down his hips.

He grimaced this time at the sight before him, lifting his shirt just enough to catch a glimpse of his hipbones. They stood out. He shook the shirt back down with a huff, glaring at the mirror as though such an action would change what he hated to see.

But not a glare harsh enough to break the glass would change the reflection that stared back at Harry; the boy would still look torn and gutted. The boy staring back at him would still be a stranger, and he would still be shattered, inside and out.

So it was with a sigh that Harry picked himself up and left the bathroom that Tuesday afternoon on his fifth day in the flat of the blue-eyed stranger and his best mate.

That much Harry had learned about the two men with whom he was currently, and apparently infinitely, staying. The two had been best friends since primary school. Zayn had saved Louis from answering some question during maths, interjecting his own response before their teacher could scorn Louis anymore for not completing the previous day’s assignment. It was stupid, really, but Louis had taken quite a liking for the other boy. He offered half of his bologna sandwich to Zayn that day during lunch, the only thing he did before he claimed rather bluntly, “You’re quick, Malik. I like it. We’re friends now, you and me, okay? Cool. Oh, I’m Louis, by the way.”

So there was precedent, Harry had learned; Louis was known to be outspoken and approach people he knew absolutely nothing about. And while that made him feel slightly less guilty for taking the bait, he also couldn’t help but feel a tiny, little (it was miniscule, really, barely even there) pang of jealousy at the realization that maybe he wasn’t so special.

Louis must have done stuff like this all the time, after all – just walking up to strangers, offering a smile or a hello or a handful of loose change or half a sandwich or a coat, even. Yeah. Nothing too special about that.

But the way Louis’ eyes lit up with excitement when he opened the door that evening to find Harry still there begged to differ, much to the younger boy’s internal protests.

“Hey!” Louis greeted, already tugging off his tie and unbuttoning his dress shirt. “I’ve got a few things to pick up, groceries, errands, what not. Wanna join?”

Harry, of course, didn’t get much say in the matter.

Not that Louis forced him from the couch, but because Harry was finding that he didn’t have much of any self-control around this blue-eyed stranger. He found himself smiling when he should have been frowning, sticking around when he should have been leaving, and talking when he should have been keeping quiet.

It was peculiar, it was. There was something about Louis that made Harry forget all of his woes, something that caused the younger boy to let down his defenses – without realizing he was until he already had. Words that should have been tucked away, kept silent, passed through his lips with ease. The walls he had built, the ones that he kept up for a reason, were broken with a flashing of piercing, curious blue, and that frightened Harry. It frightened him to the bone.

Yet here he was, shotgun in Louis’ car. It was a fairly old car, some ‘90s model. Louis apologized for the state of it, snipping something about its “horrid dinginess,” but it was nice to Harry. His eyes drifted across the interior with a sort of enthusiasm; he hadn’t ridden in a car in quite some time. Busses, yes, but not a car. He’d almost forgotten the feeling, the belt holding him down, the inertia that struck him backward at every stop, the rev of the engine, the way he swayed just enough with every turn.

It was refreshing. It felt… normal.

 _Normal_ , Harry repeated the word with a faint smile tracing his lips. He hadn’t experienced normal in a while. He could certainly use a dose of it.

“Just a few things here,” Louis stated as he pulled into a spot in the car park outside of a supermarket. “‘Fraid it won’t be anything too exciting.”

“Is grocery shopping ever?” Harry wondered, falling into step beside Louis, hands slipping into the pockets of the coat that he still had yet to consider his own.

Louis shrugged. “Suppose not,” he said and grabbed a basket once inside. “I just… I don’t know, is it weird I don’t want you to think we’re totally boring people? Like me and Zayn, I mean?”

“You’re not,” Harry was quick to assure. He blushed at the rashness of his response and ducked away from Louis’ gaze, biting his lip. “You guys are normal, I mean. Not boring.”

“But normal’s boring,” the older boy nearly whined at the label as he grabbed two cartons of milk from the shelf.

“I don’t think it is.”

“Oh Harry, come on,” Louis said with a laugh. “You’re a seventeen year old bloke. Normal is your worst nightmare. Hell, it’s still mine.”

It was Harry’s turn to shrug, and for some reason his mouth felt unnaturally dry as he admitted, “I kind of like normal.”

Louis’ lips placated into a gentle smile, one that Harry could tell wasn’t all that sincere. “Now you’re just being nice,” he decided, eyes glancing away to browse the selection of boxed cereals. Harry furrowed his brow at the statement, but neither boy said anything more as they made their way down the aisle.

It wasn’t until a box of corn pops had been placed into the basket and the two had moved on to the aisle of teas and coffees that Louis found his voice once more. “You’ll probably think this is stupid, but I kind of feel lame for doing stuff like this – grocery shopping, sitting at home doing nothing, just watching the telly. I mean you’re a guest and it’s the holidays and we should be doing something exciting, shouldn’t we?”

He ended, turned toward Harry, a hand stilling on a box of Yorkshire tea. His stare was too much. The blue eyes bore into Harry with such ease that the younger boy had to glance away simply to keep from scurrying off, overwhelmed.

But even as he looked away, his mind continued to spin with Louis’ words.

 _A guest_. It was such a simple title. Receiving hospitality from another, that’s all it meant. And while that definition rang true for Harry’s situation, he couldn’t help but feel as though he didn’t even deserve such a title. Guests were people you welcomed inside and offered a cup of tea, not a homeless kid you gave your coat to on a whim and then took in off the streets.

Harry didn’t fancy himself a guest. He didn’t fancy himself any sort of title that established a proper bond between Louis and him. Once a bond was established, the roles were there to be filled. A guest, he was expected to accept everything offered, with smile and thanks; a tenant, he was expected to stay in the flat and help pay the rent; a friend, he was expected to be there, through anything and everything.

But he knew Louis not well enough to fill any of these roles.

Nor was he sure if he ever wanted to. Then it would be too difficult when he had to leave, and he had to leave sometime, didn’t he? He couldn’t stick around Louis and Zayn’s flat forever. Despite how natural it was becoming to slip under the blankets on the couch every night, he couldn’t stay. He _shouldn’t_  stay.

But most of all he shouldn’t be worrying about it now because Louis was still staring at him, awaiting a response.

“I’m just sleeping on your couch,” Harry finally spoke up, eyes flitting to meet Louis’. “It’s not like you’re my babysitter; you don’t need to entertain me.”

The older boy pursed his lips, considering, before grabbing the box of tea from the shelf with a sigh. “I guess you’re right,” he settled. “But I just – ”

“Louis,” Harry cut him off with a soft touch to the forearm. “Don’t feel like you need to keep me occupied, okay? You… you shouldn’t feel any obligation to. I’m just here for a while, right? Only until the snow passes?” Neither decided to remark on the total lack of snow currently outdoors. “I mean really, you’ve done too much already.”

_Please don’t say you haven’t._

“I haven’t done a thing that anyone else wouldn’t,” Louis replied, trying to hide the slight smile that danced to life across his lips. “Yeah?”

There was much Harry could say on the topic, a lot he could comment on regarding the kinds of hospitality the common man chose to offer. But he chose against it. The tea aisle in a supermarket was not the place for such a conversation. So he settled for a shrug and only offered in a quiet voice, “You’d be surprised.”

“Yeah, well,” Louis said with a shrug and ducked his head just enough to block a blush that was working its way up his neck and across his cheeks. But Harry didn’t miss it.

A few more items were flung into the basket, some necessary while others only taken from the shelf because  _wait that’s so cool, you can cut your sandwiches into dinosaur halves?!_

It was with a wide grin that Harry left the supermarket beside Louis that night on his fifth day there. He had a bag of groceries dangling from one hand, swinging a little as they walked, and his other was stuffed into the pocket of the coat that was, okay, so maybe it was  _kind of_  his. The chatter escaping the boy beside him was nothing short of comforting, and he offered a comment or two from time to time. They made their way across the car park with friendly conversation, and it was the first time in a long while that Harry felt like a normal teenager.

The shattered boy that had stared back at him in the mirror earlier that day was forgotten, though his clothes still loose against his frame and his cheekbones still too prominent. But when he caught sight of himself for just a second in the wing mirror of Louis’ car, something had changed.

As subtle as it was, there returned a spark of life in the reflected pools of green. It was small and not especially noticeable, but it was a hint of curiosity, a trace of excitement, and a dash of happiness.

It was, Harry realized with a soft smile, normal.

~*~


	7. Days Eight & Nine: Too Much

Blue.   
  
That was one of his favorite colors, though he kind of enjoyed every color that the eye could see. (“Although, I never was much one for orange. Odd color, that,” he had added with a bit of a grimace over a lunch of cheap, greasy fast-food.)   
  
That was something Louis had learned about Harry in the days to follow.   
  
He was partial to the color blue, and for some reason that little piece of knowledge made Louis’ heart stutter in his chest as their eyes met across the table. He couldn’t help but think that green wasn’t all that bad a color either. Actually, he realized, he quite liked it.   
  
Harry had enjoyed classes, he admitted. His favorite subject had been history; he liked learning about how the world had come to be, how people as a whole had grown and changed and evolved over the centuries – “culturally and emotionally evolved,” Harry had clarified. He liked how he could open a book or two and observe how far the world had come and imagine how far they had yet to reach. He liked looking back and knowing that there was potential, room for people and attitudes to change. He liked, he had confessed with a blush tinting his cheeks, learning.   
  
Louis liked that.   
  
He used to play football, but took to only doing so for recreation. “Never was quite good,” he lamented, though shrugged it off. “My mom always said I had two left feet.” That was the only time he had mentioned his family, in passing. He avoided the topic of family and friends altogether, which Louis found more than a little odd, but he wasn’t about to harass the boy for answers. It wasn’t his place.   
  
Harry also enjoyed reading. He preferred cats to dogs, on account of their lackadaisical lifestyles. He harbored a peculiar affinity for classic Disney movies, no matter how childish some of them may seem. He liked baking and singing and napping and hadn’t a clue as to what he wanted to do with his life, especially now.   
  
But that was where he had ended it. He hadn’t given Louis a clue into why he was where he was. There was still no mention of what had caused him to be a seventeen-year-old boy living on the streets, or why his family wasn’t out looking for him, or why he was so against even speaking of them.   
  
But it was the most Harry had spoken in Louis’ presence, the most he had opened up. It was also the first time that Louis felt as though he knew Harry. Maybe not extremely well, not enough to be quizzed on the boy and come out with a passing mark, but he knew him. It might have only been a little, a few tidbits of information, a handful of facts that one might scribble on a “Get to Know Me!” index card at a mixer, but to Louis it felt like he had been given a mountain of gold.   
  
And it was as they walked away from that lunch of burgers and chips that the label of “strangers” finally began to flake away. Little by little, bit by bit, it fell from between them with an ease so natural that neither boy took notice.   
  
**  
  
“Wow, this is certainly a sight to see,” Louis quipped as he passed Zayn, who was seated at the little island in their kitchen, shirtless, hair a mess, and bowl of cornflakes set in front of him. He only grunted in reply.   
  
“Aw, first morning away from your beau in days,” Louis continued with a bop to his friend’s nose. “Must be tough, you poor,  _poor_  thing.”   
  
“Cut it out,” Zayn muttered, swerving just out of reach.   
  
“Don’t tell me he kicked you out.”   
  
“No,” he was quick to refute, tone sure. But he turned his eyes toward his bowl as he added on quietly, “ _Niall_  didn’t kick me out.”   
  
“No?” Louis wondered as he plopped down into the seat across from his roommate. “Then whom do I and those cornflakes there have to thank for being graced with your simply peachy presence this fine morning, huh?”   
  
Zayn’s eyes flitted upward for a moment before quickly returning back to his breakfast. He cleared his throat, shifting in his seat before supplying, “Josh.”   
  
Louis’ eyes widened. “ _Josh_  kicked you out?” he asked, his voice nothing short of incredulous. “But he practically set you two up! Why would he – ”  
  
“He said we were too loud.”   
  
“Too…” Louis trailed off to what would have been laughter, if it weren’t for the blush that clung to his friend’s neck and cheeks and the way the conversation had the younger of the two hunching even farther over his bowl of cereal. So he cleared his throat and dragged over the box of cornflakes, pulling out a generous amount for distraction.   
  
“Oh,” was all he said before throwing back the handful of cereal. “Well,” he continued amidst crunches, “I know that lad has more than one pair of headphones. I guess he just felt like being a prick for a change. Let’s hope he’s cooled off by tonight then, yeah?”   
  
“Yeah,” Zayn agreed and finally raised his gaze to meet Louis’. “Hopefully. Speaking of tonight…”   
  
“What about it?”   
  
“Is El coming?”   
  
“Oh.” Louis’ smile faltered, if only slightly. “No, she’s not.”   
  
Zayn only rolled his eyes. “Tell me you at least asked her, mate.”   
  
“I did!” Louis assured him. “Of course I asked her. She just… Well, she said she was a little bored last year, and she wants to celebrate with her girlfriends instead, so.”   
  
“So you and your girlfriend of a year and a half aren’t going to ring in the new year together,” Zayn concluded, unable to hold back a pitying shake of the head. “Look, Lou, it’s whatever, I’m not going to tell you what to do. But… don’t drag her on, mate. She doesn’t deserve that.”   
  
Swallowing a sigh, Louis nodded in understanding, though his eyes batted away from his friend’s. “I know. I’m not trying to.”   
  
“Good. Now,” Zayn perked up a bit, “where’s our lovely little stowaway?”   
  
Louis nearly choked on his mouthful of cereal. “Jesus, Zayn, he’s not a  _stowaway_ ,” he sputtered between coughs, his eyes wide to match the horror he felt. Thank god Harry wasn’t anywhere within earshot. He could only imagine the boy’s reaction. He was already uncertain enough as it was, with his green eyes always timidly situated upon the dirty toes of his shoes, still only rarely making eye contact while speaking.   
  
It was a chore merely to make him feel as though it were okay to eat the food Louis would shove in front of him or that it was okay to take a crisp or two or, heaven forbid,  _three_  from the bag in the cupboard by the sink. Louis at first wondered if that was simply Harry’s nature, hesitant and a bit nervous, never quite sure how to act.   
  
But he had seen the grateful looks he casted upon every thing he was given, time and time again, and he had caught sight of that demeanor that Harry so often assumed – as though he thought himself not quite worthy of any of this attention. Like maybe he didn’t matter. And Louis knew such ways of thinking were never just part of one’s nature; thoughts like those stemmed from something. Just what Harry’s stemmed from, he had yet to learn.   
  
“But,” none of that much mattered at the moment, not with Zayn awaiting a response, “Harry’s in the shower. Use your ears, mate, they’re there for a reason. And don’t call him a stowaway.”   
  
“Stowaway, visitor, kid sleeping on our couch,” Zayn seemed to wave away the terms with a shrug and a grunt of indifference, “same diff.”  
  
“Very different,” Louis corrected, glare situating itself upon his brow.   
  
“Not when he’s just sleeping on our couch for god knows how long,” Zayn began in a mutter, face downturned. “And I know he hasn’t even eaten that much here, but it’s not like food is totally free, you know.”   
  
A crease crinkled Louis’ brow as he let his eyes wander across his friend’s hunched over frame. “I know that,” he replied quietly, a frown twitching at the corner of his lips.   
  
“Not to mention you don’t even know the bloke, Louis,” Zayn continued without missing a beat. His tone took a turn toward sour, and he finally let his gaze rise once more from the table, his voice rising with it. “I mean really, Lou, what do we even know about the boy? He could be a runaway or addicted to meth – we could be harboring a fugitive for all we know!"  
  
“Hey,” Louis spoke softly after letting a moment pass. He stared at his friend before continuing, his brow dipped in confusion. And perhaps if he weren’t so troubled by Zayn’s sudden outburst, maybe he would have taken note that the shower had quit running two minutes prior.   
  
But alas, his attention was too drawn by his roommate’s unprecedented harshness, and he continued without notice, “I thought we talked about this.”   
  
“We did,” a sigh followed suit, shoulders sagging in slight defeat. “I just – ”  
  
“You said you were okay with it, at least for a while,” Lou reminded him.   
  
“I was, I  _am_ ,” Zayn clarified and ran a hand through his loose hair, pushing it back from his forehead. “Look, I’m not trying to be a twat, I just… I don’t know, I came in and saw him on the couch again, and I don’t know, maybe it’s because it was three in the morning and I was buzzed, but I saw him there and I was just like… Why are you doing this again? I mean there has to be a reason, doesn’t there?”   
  
 _I don’t know_ , was the initial response that came to mind, and it was true. Eight days later and Louis still didn’t know why he was doing what he was. He didn’t know why he had offered for Harry to stay, nor why he continued to make offers afterward, from food to clothes to a place to stay. He just did.   
  
But there had to be a reason, something that was drawing him toward the curly-haired boy so intently. And the words found their way out before ever registering with Louis’ mind: “He seems… lost.”   
  
“Lost?”   
  
Louis’ eyes jumped to Zayn’s, and he scrunched up his lips in thought, sparing a shrug. “Yeah,” he confirmed, “like he, I don’t know, isn’t sure where he belongs, y’know?”   
  
Zayn chuckled at that, scooping up the last of his breakfast. “Mate,” he settled, “you just described every teen’s greatest dilemma.”   
  
“No, you tosser,” Louis rolled his eyes, “it’s… different.”   
  
“Just you don’t have any idea as to how or why it’s so different with him?” Zayn wondered, cocking one dark eyebrow.   
  
Louis fought the blush that roared upon his cheeks, but nodded. “Unfortunately, yes.”   
  
“Yeah, brilliant, anyway,” Zayn started as he gathered his bowl from the table and padded over toward the sink, “how about you go about trying to figure that one out, yeah? If he’s going to be staying here for a while, I’d sleep a lot better at night if you’d sort things out. At least learn the bloke’s last name or something.”   
  
“Or something,” Louis agreed, swiveling on his stool to face his friend. “But Zayn, you are okay with this, yeah? I mean if you aren’t, just tell me and I’ll – ”  
  
“It’s fine,” Zayn cut him off, his response firm. “He’s alright. Just tell me when you figure out why you’re doing all this for him, okay? Because otherwise, I’m already starting to believe Niall’s reasoning.”   
  
“That I’ve gone completely mental?”   
  
“Nah, man, I’ve been your best mate forever, I know you’re not mental. Well, not that kind, anyway,” Zayn smirked. “But that you’re soft on him. Now that I’d believe. Sure would explain a bit too, wouldn’t it?”   
  
Louis scoffed at the suggestion. “Maybe it’s you two who’ve gone mental, mate.”   
  
“Highly doubt it, Lou,” Zayn called over his shoulder before rounding the corner into the hallway.   
  
If their laughter weren’t so loud, they might have heard the sounds of feet shuffling across the wood floor of the hall, headed back toward the bathroom, only seconds before Zayn left the kitchen.   
  
**  
  
“LITTLE HAZZA, WE MEET AT LAST!”   
  
Louis had to stifle a laugh into his fist as he watched his blond friend stumble two feet into the hallway to envelope Harry in a rather unwelcomed bear hug. Niall’s drunken bear hugs were often unwanted, though, so that wasn’t to be unexpected.   
  
“Um,” Harry mumbled uncertainly, eyes flitting toward Louis as he settled to pat the back of the boy currently crushing him. “Hi?”  
  
“I’m Niall!” Niall continued, his voice unnecessarily loud and Irish accent even thicker than usual. “Sick we finally get to meet on New Year’s! Can’t believe these pricks haven’t introduced us yet, I mean I’ve been – wait,” he paused and pulled back to look at Harry from arm’s length, a new thought clearly jarring him. “Have they not even mentioned me?”   
  
“Oh, we’ve mentioned you,” Zayn assured him as he took to disentangling the two entirely. “Harry here got to hear all about you on the car ride over, didn’t you, Harry?”   
  
“Good things, I hope?” Niall wondered, glancing between the three boys.   
  
“All good, Ni, of course,” Lou tacked on.   
  
“Yeah, good things,” Zayn snorted and shoved past Niall and into the flat, “like how you’re so excited to meet him that you’ve totally neglected to even say hello to your boyfriend.”   
  
Niall’s eyes comically widened to the size of half-dollars at that, and he seemed to forget Harry altogether as he charged after Zayn and wrapped his arms around the dark-haired boy from behind. “But I just didn’t get a chance to say hello yet,” he defended himself, still rather loudly. But Zayn didn’t seem to mind, especially not as the Irish lad took to showering his cheeks with “hello kisses,” he called them.   
  
“Don’t take a word that wanker says to heart!” a voice called out from inside the flat, and Louis guided Harry inside with a light touch to his lower back to find Josh leaning back on the couch. A game of FIFA was on pause, and the young man at the couch smirked in greeting as everyone finally made their way inside. “Twat’s been popping bottles open since three o’clock.”   
  
“Three?” Zayn nearly shouted, despite that Niall was still hanging onto him like a rather eager octopus. Well, tetrapus, rather. If such existed. But with the way he was flailing about in his tomfoolery, it would have been quite easy to believe he had eight limbs instead of four. “I thought we agreed he couldn’t break into the stash until at least six!”   
  
“Well hey,” Josh turned a bit more to catch Zayn’s gaze over the back of the couch, “he was trying to get things started at noon. Be thankful I held him off till three. A bloody miracle that was, truthfully.”   
  
“Shit,” Zayn sighed and began yanking Niall toward the kitchen. “Let’s get some water in your system, Ni, don’t want you passed out at midnight.”   
  
“It’s midnight?!” the blonde’s eyes shot wide open. “HAPPY NEW YEAR!”   
  
“Not yet, buddy, it’s only half past nine. C’mon, you should eat something too.”   
  
“Food? I love food,” Niall perked up at the offer, stumbling after Zayn a tad more willingly. But he soon stopped in his tracks. “But no, wait, where’s Harry? I’m supposed to introduce myself to Harry tonight!”   
  
“You already did that, babe,” Zayn chuckled and wrapped an arm snugly around Niall’s shoulders. “Come on, food, water, you, now. You can torment Harry and Lou later, alright?”   
  
Niall made a sound of protest, but that was the last they heard before the two passed fully into the kitchen, where they would remain for the next half hour. During which time Louis spent introducing Harry to Josh and watching the two settle in for a rather rousing game of FIFA. Harry was reluctant at first, using Niall as an excuse. “He’ll be back in a minute and want to continue your game, I’m sure,” he said.   
  
To which Josh snorted. “The fool’s drunk off his rocker right now. And as amusing as he is to watch, a drunken Nialler doesn’t make for good competition. So come on,  _Harryyyyy_ ,” he urged and waggled the controller at him. “Lou’s shit at this game anyway. You’re my only hope.”   
  
“He’s right,” Louis confirmed with a nod. “I never could keep any of the controls right.”   
  
“Just shouts out obscenities and pounds every button.”   
  
“It’s not very productive.”   
  
“Although it is highly amusing to witness.”   
  
“But it does hurt my fingers after a while, what with all the random pressing and whatnot.”  
  
“And he usually ends up throwing the controller at the TV in frustration, too.”   
  
“Oh yes,” Lou remembered with a sigh. “There’s been more than one broken screen over the years.”   
  
Harry held back a smile at that, lightly biting his lower lip, though his dimples shined through. “Really?”   
  
“Yup,” both boys spoke in unison.   
  
“So it’s safer for him to watch,” Josh added.   
  
“For all of us, really,” Louis included.   
  
And so Harry gave in with a smile, “Well, if only for the sake of the telly.”   
  
A genuine smile it was, that slid into place so easily across his lips that Louis found himself telling the boy, “I’ll cheer you on, Harry.”   
  
And he did, whooping whenever Harry did something even remotely good and, fittingly, booing every little move Josh made. It made Josh glare from time to time, but it had the curly-haired boy grinning from ear to ear, and that was so satisfying in itself that Louis almost forgot that it was New Year’s Eve.   
  
He forgot up until around ten-fifteen, when Zayn and a slightly tamer Niall emerged from the kitchen and burst into the living room. They came bearing bottles of champagne and glasses, ridiculous party hats of shiny silver, blue, and green, and even a handful of party blowers – “for the hell of it,” Zayn had explained.   
  
The game continued, though with the addition of Niall shouting out, for both Josh and Harry, what to do before Harry conceded and handed over the controller. “I give,” was all he said and shoved it into the blonde’s hands, and not all too lightly.   
  
“But cheers for your efforts,” Louis applauded as Harry plopped down beside him. “A game well played, mate.”   
  
Harry only shrugged, batting away a rather pleased smile. “Bit rusty, though,” he said. “It’s been a while since I’ve played.”   
  
“Yeah? Did you have it at home?” Louis couldn’t help but wonder. Plus the little bit of alcohol he had already consumed was certainly not helping him to keep his curiosity in check.   
  
But Harry shook his head and picked up the glass of champagne that he had yet to touch. He twirled the cup in his long fingers, staring at it for a moment in thought, though it were obvious he wasn’t considering its contents. No, Louis could tell; the smile had faded from Harry’s lips and his eyes that had been almost sparkling with vivacity were now dull beneath a furrowed brow.   
  
He watched as the younger boy tipped the glass to his lips after a minute, taking back the smallest of sips. “No,” he responded, pulling it away with a lick of the lips. “My one friend… he had a whole slew of games at his house. Used to spend hours after school getting distracted by them. But he was, uh, big on the football ones, guess you could say. I don’t know why, seeing as he could actually play the real sport.”   
  
“Was he on a team?” Louis asked, gaining a raised brow from Harry. “Your friend.”   
  
“Oh,” Harry said and glanced away, worrying his bottom lip as though maybe he hadn’t meant to take this turn. But he nodded and responded quietly, “Yeah. He was on a team, some, um, community thing.”   
  
“Cool,” Louis concluded and thankfully still had enough of a grasp over himself to keep from babbling out another question. Instead, he smiled and gave Harry’s knee a light squeeze before snatching up two hats from the coffee table, one blue and one green. “Here,” he held the blue one out for Harry to take.   
  
The boy looked at it a bit skeptically, and Louis rolled his eyes. “It’s almost midnight,” he said, as though that explained everything. “And as tradition would have it, if you don’t have that on your head by the time the clock strikes twelve, Niall will shove it on for you. And then place you on cleaning duty. And he might have you streak down the block as well, but that only happened once. So it’s up to you, really, but I suggest putting it on.”   
  
Harry chuckled out an, “Alright, so long as I get to keep my clothes,” and pulled on the blue party hat, securing the string beneath his chin. It squashed out his curls just a bit and made them plump up around the base of the cardboard hat in such a way that Louis had to tell himself it wasn’t  _that_ endearing. Twice.  
  
He shook his head at his own thoughts and pulled on the green hat he had grabbed for himself, tucking the elastic beneath his chin just minutes to midnight.   
  
The five boys rang in the New Year with a chorus of whistles and hollering, some louder than others, but all equally joyful. Pots and pans were banged out the window, meeting similar sounds that echoed throughout the streets, and a new bottle of champagne was opened. Glasses clanked and cheers were said, all with the simple hope for happiness.   
  
Louis looked away as Niall and Zayn shared their first kiss of the new year and found a masterpiece staring right at him. Green eyes were bright with a kind of happiness that made his chest tighten, and a smile was stretched across the boy’s lips, so large that his dimples looked almost painful as they dented his cheeks. But warm laughter was escaping the boy, and Louis found himself joining in, for no reason at all. But it felt right, that laughter, all light and bubbly and passing into the room with a bliss that seemed to wrap itself around him.   
  
The laughter carried Louis the few steps across the living room to stand before Harry, and maybe it was the bit of alcohol bubbling in his system that caused his next action, or maybe it was the sound of Harry’s chuckles filling his ears.   
  
Or maybe he just wanted to.   
  
Whatever the reason, Louis found himself pulling the younger boy into a snug embrace. Harry stiffened in his arms at first, but relaxed after a moment, so much so that he brought his arms to wrap tentatively around Louis’ back. His touch was light, not entirely giving into the hug, but it was enough, and Louis tightened his hold around him for good measure. “Happy new year, Harry,” was all he said, was all he could think to say in that moment.   
  
And maybe he would have said more, if he had known just how much he would come to cherish that moment, but a shrill, poppy ringtone shattered the atmosphere of the room and cut their moment short.   
  
“Mom, hiya!” Louis heard Niall greet all too enthusiastically, as he drew away from Harry. “Of course, happy new year to you too!” He paused to chuckle. “‘Course he’s here, Mom. All the lads are. … _What_ , no, Mom – ”   
  
The blonde stammered after what sounded like a choke, and if the vibrant color of his cheeks was anything to go by, Louis could only imagine what his mom had said.   
  
“ _Christ_ , Ma, do you really think I would have picked up the phone if I were – if  _we_  were… Jesus Christ, Mom, I’m hanging up. Yeah, no, I am, happy new year, I’ll call you in the morning, okay? Love you.  _Bye_ ,” he settled and ended the call so harshly that the phone tumbled out of his hands and landed on the (thankfully plush carpet of the) living room floor with a concluding thud.   
  
He didn’t bother to pick it up, instead groaning and burying his face in his hands. “My mother,” he spoke, his words muffled against his palms, “is a right twat.”   
  
“Niall James Horan, thou shall not speak of thy mother in such terms!” Josh scolded as he passed back into the living room, sparing the blonde a whack upside the back of his head. “Your mother is a very respectable woman, I don’t – ”  
  
“Yeah, but she doesn’t start right in on your sex life every time you talk to her,” Niall cut him off and finally peeked out through his fingers. “Does she?”   
  
Josh blanched at that, though he managed a short laugh. “Thank god, no.”   
  
“Well lucky you.” Niall groaned again but finally raised his head, as though remembering something. “Oh,” he mumbled and sought out Zayn, who had perched himself on the armrest beside the blonde just moments before. “Mom says hi, by the way.”   
  
A smile pulled at the dark-haired boy’s lips. “Well give her my hello in the morning,” he said and winked, squeezing the blonde’s shoulder. “Least by then you’ll have something to share.”   
  
“Oh wonderful,” the Irish lad muttered, his cheeks still dark. “I can’t wait.”   
  
“… Your mum knows about you?” a tentative voice spoke up in the quiet that followed, curious but uncertain.   
  
Louis knew who it was, but he turned to look at the curly-haired boy beside him anyway. Harry’s cheeks had inevitably drowned beneath a blush once four sets of eyes had turned on him, and he shifted uncomfortably in his spot, having sat down beside Louis on the couch during the phone call. “I mean,” he continued, appearing greatly interested with his fingers as he spoke, “she’s… okay with it?”   
  
Niall snorted. “Okay with it?” he laughed, cackled even, and threw his head against the back of the couch. “Oh god, that’d be putting things lightly.”   
  
Harry just lifted a brow, hesitantly looking at the blonde. “What do you mean?”  
  
“Jesus, how do I… Okay, I came out to my mom when I was, like, sixteen, alright?” Niall began, only pausing to make sure Harry was following. “I was scared shitless that she’d overreact or something, and she did, honestly, but her reaction was… Well, she had a date set up for me the following weekend I kid you not. The son of one of her friends from church. So yeah, she’s  _okay_  with it. She’s almost too supportive, if that’s even possible.”   
  
“She puts up a rainbow flag when we go to visit,” Zayn added with a chuckle. “I mean it’s cute, but…”   
  
“It’s like she’s more into me being gay than I am,” Niall finished with a shake of the head, though a smile sat upon his lips.   
  
“Aww, hush up, I think it’s adorable,” Josh interjected from his place, reclined on the floor, cradling a bottle of beer to his side.   
  
“Yeah,” Niall kicked his friend in the thigh, “‘cause you don’t have to put up with it.”   
  
“What about your dad?” Harry wondered aloud, gaining everyone’s eyes again. But no one seemed to stare at him as closely as Louis, whose brow had creased with a mixture of confusion and curiosity. The boy’s interest seemed unprecedented, after all. But he had to remind himself with a sigh that he really didn’t know Harry all that well. Maybe it wasn’t unprecedented. Maybe it actually struck too –   
  
“He came around,” Niall answered with a shrug, obviously not too perturbed by Harry’s questions. “Took a little while, but he’s cool with it.”   
  
“Greeted me as Nialler’s boyfriend before we were even a thing,” Zayn corrected with a laugh. “I’d say he’s more than cool with it.”   
  
“But he’s not nearly as bad as my mom.”   
  
“No, luckily,” Zayn agreed. “But it’s cute.”   
  
Niall rolled his eyes, arms crossed against his chest. “If you say so.”   
  
“It is. I wish my mum were like that some days.”   
  
“Is your mum not okay with it?” Harry asked, cutting back into the conversation. Louis blinked at him.   
  
Zayn’s smile faltered a bit, and he let out a sigh. “Well, she’s okay with it, I guess…”   
  
“She just took it as a bit of a surprise,” Niall supplied for him.   
  
“Because Zayney here never actually came out to his dear parents,” Josh explained further, rising to rest on his elbows.   
  
The dark-haired boy nearly groaned as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Because I never had anything to come out  _as_! Jeeze, we’ve been over this.”   
  
Confusion settled across Harry’s brow, and Louis explained beside him, “Zayn considers sexuality to be indefinable.”   
  
“Which is ironically defining sexuality,” Josh chuckled.   
  
“Shut up,” Zayn snipped. “So I’m not narrow like some Mr. Almighty-Straight-Guy over there.”   
  
“Hey!” Josh shot upright, pointing a finger at Zayn. “I may be straight, but I am not narrow, kind sir, I’ve told you before.”   
  
“Meaning?” Louis asked, unable to hold back a chuckle. He’d never heard this part of the argument before.   
  
“Meaning I am perfectly okay with those two swapping spit whenever they so choose, so long as it’s not in my bed,” Josh responded with a thumb jutted out toward Niall and Zayn. “Also meaning I can admit that J Hutch has a killer jaw line and not be ashamed or embarrassed to say such a thing.”   
  
“You sure that’s what it means, buddy?” Zayn quipped with a smirk, ducking as Josh snatched one of the party blowers from the table and threw it as his head.   
  
“Pretty sure a narrow-minded straight guy would be a bit hesitant to comment on another straight man’s sexy jaw line, yes,” Josh confirmed.   
  
“Okay, but – ”  
  
“You cunts are fucking annoying,” Niall interrupted with a grunt of frustration. “Can we please focus more on the fact that I just remembered we have three cans of spray cheese waiting for us in the fridge? I’m pretty sure that’s more important.”   
  
Which seemed to successfully shut up the two bickering boys, who both clambered after Niall to the kitchen. Spray cheese, Louis learned, was evidently very important.   
  
Harry smiled after the others but stayed where he was, seated beside Louis and sloshing about the remaining champagne in his glass. He kept his eyes situated on the golden liquid, the same far-off sort of thoughtfulness crumbling his features as it had earlier. But this time, Louis thought he might know the reason behind it.   
  
“You okay, Harry?” he asked, jerking the younger boy from his thoughts.   
  
Harry flicked his eyes upward, and when green met blue there stood a mistiness between them that had never been in the way before. Green was clouded with tears, and Louis thought he might have scooped the younger boy into a hug to keep them from ever falling.   
  
But Harry’s eyes fluttered away, and he cleared his throat. “Yeah, no,” he said and shook his head, sniffling lightly. “I’m fine.”   
  
Louis almost laughed. “You’re sure?”   
  
“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure,” Harry continued, an unconvincing smile strung across his lips. “Just… you know, think I’m finally starting to feel this alcohol is all.”   
  
“Yeah… alright,” Louis let the topic slide.   
  
And he didn’t protest as Harry excused himself to the bathroom, and he didn’t follow after him, even though he saw the hasty hand that the boy ran across his cheeks.   
  
And when Harry rejoined them all later, the boys in the midst of spraying squeeze cheese atop whatever food they could find, he smiled, and Louis thought it was real. Louis thought it was okay.   
  
And when he asked Harry again, later on, moments before slumber claimed all five boys, if he were really okay, he believed him when he said he was. Because why would Harry lie? What good would it serve?   
  
But he realized that Harry wasn’t okay.   
  
He realized that maybe all of this – the boys, the celebration, the conversation that Harry had seemed so genuinely interested in, everything – had been too much.   
  
Because when he woke up the following morning, blinking open his eyes to find the others sprawled out all across the living room, Harry wasn’t there.   
  
He sat up from his resting position to get a better view of the entire room, recounting heads and even peeking behind the couch.   
  
But Harry wasn’t there.   
  
And when he called out Harry’s name and stumbled around the flat, his heart beating a bit faster with every step, Harry didn’t respond.   
  
Because Harry wasn’t there.   
  
But a note was there.   
  
Louis found it during his search, folded and peeking out of the pocket of his coat. And that’s when he noticed that Harry’s coat wasn’t there either.   
  
 _Louis –_  
  
It began as he unfolded the scrap piece of paper, obviously something Harry had found lying unused in the kitchen. It was written on the back of a pizza take-out menu.   
  
 _I hope you’re not too surprised by any of this, but I thought it was about time I leave. I shouldn’t be taking as much from you and Zayn as I am, so it’s all for the best. But thank you so much for everything the past week or so, really, I'm not even sure if I can thank you enough. I’ll repay you (and Zayn) some day. Soon, hopefully.  
  
Until then, take care  
Harry x   
  
Also – hope you don’t mind, but I did take your coat with me. You said it was a gift, after all.   
  
Happy New Year! _  
  
It was with shaking hands that Louis refolded the note and tucked it back into the pocket of his coat. He bit his lower lip, swallowed a sigh, and tried his best not to care. Because strangers don’t mourn each other’s departure.   
  
But Harry wasn’t there, and that was really the only thing that Louis could seem to notice.   
  
~*~


	8. Days: Back Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is kind of heavy on the narration, but it tells a lot, so I don’t suggest skipping around too much. Also, shout out to BBMak for existing and incidentally giving this chapter a name.

Zayn told Louis not to get worked up over it.   
  
“He was bound to leave at some point anyway,” he had said, as they entered their apartment mid-day on the first of the year. It felt considerably emptier.   
  
“But I can’t believe he just up and left like that,” Louis had replied, hanging his coat on the rack by the door. One coat was missing.   
  
“Lou.” Zayn laughed. He  _laughed_. “Did you expect him to just sit around here all the time?”   
  
Of course he hadn’t. That would have been stupid. “No, but I – ”  
  
“He’s young, mate,” Zayn had said and sunk into the couch, propping his feet on the edge of the coffee table like nothing was the matter. Like the blankets folded at the other end of the couch, waiting to be touched later that evening, weren’t even there. “A young person, out on the streets like that?” he continued. “He’s probably a starving artist or something. Those types never can stay put in one spot for too long.”   
  
Louis sighed, staying near the door. He had pulled the note from his coat pocket, that old pizza menu that had been folded in half, and was holding it in his hands, as though such a thing would bring some good. He knew it wouldn’t. He knew it was foolish, yet he couldn’t quite bring himself to walk the seven steps to the garbage bin that stood at the entrance to the kitchen and toss it inside. Maybe he’d hold onto it, just for now. Just for a little while.   
  
So he kept it for now, folding it another time between his fingers. “I… I don’t think Harry’s a starving artist,” he commented after a moment, still shifting from foot to foot by the door. Uncertain of what to do, even his feet hadn’t a clue where to carry him.   
  
“You sure?” Zayn asked, almost indifferently. His eyes were already trained on the telly.   
  
“Well no,” Louis admitted. “But he never mentioned anything serious about art or music.”   
  
“Mm,” was the only thing that Zayn had to add. An apathetic hum before he flipped through the channels on the television, because apparently finding something to watch on New Year’s Day was more important than an adolescent boy’s whereabouts.   
  
Louis took a deep breath to keep from rounding the couch to shake his friend. Did he not even care that Harry was gone? Not that either of them had grown  _that_  much of a bond with Harry over the past eight days or anything, but wasn’t he at least a tad worried? Harry was gone. He could have been anywhere at the moment (Louis tried not to let his imagination think up too many troubling situations), and that in itself was worrying. Harry was only seventeen, after all. Seventeen and he had run off – again, Louis presumed.   
  
And Louis knew he didn’t have that much on Harry, being only a few years older. But Harry was seventeen, and simply imagining his sixteen-year-old sister out on the streets or in a situation even remotely similar to that of Harry’s? It was enough to send him mad.   
  
But Zayn had younger sisters too, and here he was, calm and cool and acting as though all was well. Maybe all was well. Maybe Louis was overreacting. So it was with bated breath and reddening cheeks that he wondered aloud minutes later, “D’you think we should… I don’t know, maybe go and look for him?”   
  
His roommate flicked his gaze from the television for only a short moment, his brow furrowing. “Look for who, mate?”   
  
“Harry,” Louis supplied and half wondered if he had perhaps stepped out of a dream. Surely Zayn couldn’t have forgotten already.   
  
“Oh, right, Harry,” Zayn reiterated, but still didn’t show any signs of stress or worry. “Nah, I bet he’ll be fine.”   
  
Louis arched one brow, at last walking close enough to the couch to gain his friend’s attention. “You think so?”   
  
Zayn only shrugged. “He was fine before, wasn’t he?”   
  
And so it was on the first night after Harry’s departure that Louis wondered if maybe he were caring too much for someone he maybe shouldn’t care for at all.   
  
**  
  
It was the second day after Harry had left, a Sunday, when Zayn tripped over Harry’s backpack. The ratty old thing with its fraying straps had been tucked almost fully beneath the corner of the couch, well enough away that it wouldn’t be in the way. But Zayn’s little toe had caught one of the straps and sent him stumbling in confusion.   
  
“Hey, Lou,” he had called out with a chuckle as he entered the brunette’s room that afternoon. “Look what your friend left behind.”   
  
Louis glanced up from his laptop, his blue eyes flitting over toward Zayn before settling on the backpack in his friend’s arms. They stared with disinterest at first, until recognition quickly sunk in. “That in the living room?” he wondered, already untangling from his criss-crossed position on the bed.   
  
“Yeah,” Zayn answered and handed the pack over to Louis without question. “Maybe he’ll come back for it. You think?”   
  
The simple suggestion made Louis’ heart thump a bit harder than usual, and he felt a smile already tugging at the corners of his lips. But he suppressed the urge and kept his thoughts in check, willing his eagerness at the mere idea not to show too much.   
  
“Maybe,” he said.   
  
**  
  
But it was the same day when Harry realized he had left his backpack behind at Louis and Zayn’s flat.   
  
Walking down a city street, he had stopped in realization. His heart had leapt at first, his stomach lurching, his body undergoing mild panic. How stupid could he have been, to leave without even remembering that his backpack – the one thing he still actually  _owned_  – was still sitting back at Louis’ flat?   
  
Instinct had him turning in the direction he would need to take to end up back at Mayberry Street. His feet had already made the turn, the rest of his body following with the sudden change.   
  
But then he had stopped. His pack… it wasn’t all that important, really. The years he’d had it were finally taking their toll on the dark canvas, time shown visually through snags and holes and poorly sewn up patches. It was limp and not all that large and the few things it held…   
  
 _Maybe it’s time to let go._  
  
There was no better time to move on and some things, he reasoned, need to be left behind sooner or later.   
  
Harry settled for sooner and turned back around, sending his backpack a silent farewell.   
  
**  
  
Louis had kept the pack by the front door of the flat, despite the smirk that Zayn had sported at cost of Louis’ hopefulness.   
  
It stayed there for a few days waiting, but the only person who ever knocked on the door was Niall.   
  
“Lou, maybe he forgot about it,” Zayn suggested one night, his eyes shifted toward the heap of forgotten blackness by the door.   
  
Louis’ shoulders sagged, just slightly as he looked back up from his laptop, and he almost nodded in agreement. But his heart spoke up a tad louder than his mind, “Just a couple days more? Just in case, I mean.”   
  
Zayn opened his mouth as though to say something in return, but a second turned into two and two into four and the dark-haired man closed his mouth without a word more. He gazed at his friend for another moment before nodding once, sparing him a smile. “Okay,” he said after some time. “Just in case.”   
  
And so two more days passed, but it was the evening of the third day when Louis nearly fell on his face, turning too early into the flat and finding the backpack with his shoe.   
  
The backpack then earned permanent residence in the corner of Louis’ closet.   
  
**  
  
It was weird, how everything felt different. Harry had only been there for eight days, anyway. That should be too short a time for anything to drastically change, shouldn’t it?   
  
Louis thought it should, but the first few nights that Harry was gone found him tossing and turning, lost in a web of thoughts and endless questions and what-ifs.  _Why had Harry gone? Where was he? Was he back beneath the flyover? How was he eating? Was he asking for money? For food? Did he know anyone else in the city? Was he headed back home? To a friend’s house? What if he knew no one else? What if he was too modest to ask for help when he really needed it? What if he was just too stubborn? Would he ever wander and end up back here?_  
  
But Louis extinguished all of those thoughts and questions as well as he could, focusing on other things. He tried to, at least.   
  
He put away the duvet, blankets, and pillows that had been kept on the couch since Christmas Eve. That was a good start. Right?  
  
Fewer dishes were used, less trash was taken out, and less pairs of shoes and coats found their way to rest by the door that week. Louis tried to see the good in it, tried to reason that things were better this way. Zayn and he couldn’t be responsible for helping someone like Harry, after all. A boy like that, he needed an actual home, not just a couch. He deserved better than that.   
  
So Louis tried not to notice how empty the flat felt when Zayn was out with Niall, and he tried to laugh the few times he turned to say something to someone who wasn’t there.   
  
But when he found a shirt in the wash that he knew didn’t belong, it was hard to ignore.   
  
**  
  
It was a Wednesday night when a bitter wind whipped up around him and Harry tugged his coat as far around his frame as he could. He shivered and clenched his teeth, willing them not to chatter, but the temperature beat his control.   
  
Snow was falling atop the cars that passed nearby, and Harry couldn’t have been more thankful for the coat he wore. He ducked his chin as the wind picked up again and breathed in once his face was nearly buried in the cream scarf wrapped around his neck. It still held a scent that wasn’t his – a mixture of vanilla and a hint of aftershave his mind had since associated with Louis. He breathed in a second time and his lips curled into a gentle smile, without his notice.   
  
He had almost gone back to 243 Mayberry Street the day before, once he remembered that Louis had never exactly  _given_  him the scarf. But snippets of overheard conversation played in his mind, a conversation he knew he wasn’t meant to have heard, and he squashed out any remaining reasons to return to Louis and Zayn’s flat before he actually had a way to repay them.   
  
He couldn’t just go back like that, even if it were to just return a scarf. Louis would try to make him stay. It would play out just like before. He’d go with the intention of only returning an item and then, somehow, be coaxed into sticking around. He couldn’t do that, not again. He couldn’t go back and take and take and take when he couldn’t give a thing in return.   
  
He never wanted to be a burden. He couldn’t – he  _wouldn’t_  – be a stowaway. He couldn’t become someone’s charity case. He couldn’t go back there.   
  
But that didn’t stop Harry from imagining a pair of kind, caring blue eyes that night before he drifted off to sleep.   
  
**  
  
The first week of Harry’s absence passed sooner than Louis had actually noticed. His internship had come to a close, his university classes had started back up, and with everything else whirling up back to life around him, Harry slowly, yet easily, seemed to slip his mind. But he never strayed very far from his thoughts.   
  
**  
  
It was a Sunday when Louis found himself without a thing to do. His workload from courses was light and he had already finished what little he needed to for the next day. Zayn and Niall were off having a day alone together, Josh was still nursing a hangover of “epic proportions” (as he had claimed over the phone, at least), and Louis was trying to busy himself at home with absolutely nothing to do.   
  
Nothing exciting was showing on TV, reading didn’t exactly sound like much fun at the moment, and the idea of wasting money to see a film he didn’t even want to watch was not very appealing.   
  
So he found himself driving around aimlessly, turning corners only when a song ended on the radio – to make things interesting.   
  
He was headed nowhere and not paying his surroundings much attention, until… until he recognized a simple sign. The sign was pointed to a train station Louis had visited before, a station that he wasn’t known to frequent but had visited a handful of times out of necessity. A station that had his heart quickening in remembrance.   
  
Before Louis even realized what was happening, he was pulling his car off the side of the road, switching into park, and unbuckling his seatbelt.   
  
With his keys tucked haphazardly in his pocket, he stepped out of the car and was about to cross the road during a break in traffic when he paused. He stopped, rather, his feet stuck to the curb with a thought, while his eyes drifted to the top of a slope he simultaneously did and didn’t recognize.   
  
There it was, that slope beneath the flyover that he knew was also a makeshift home for a seventeen-year-old boy, big enough for one. His heart was speeding up as he stared across the street at the spot where Harry might have been, perhaps hidden in the shadows. It would be so easy to cross the road right now, just one foot in the front of the other, to take him to the bottom of that slight hill and call up to the boy.   
  
 _But he left_ , a voice seemed to whisper in Louis’ mind.   
  
Harry left. He was the one who had chosen to pick up and go, the one who claimed it was time for him to leave. And a move like that, it made things pretty clear that he wasn’t looking for help at the moment – at least not from Louis.   
  
The walk light timed out and the honk of a horn shook Louis back out from his thoughts as the traffic picked up again. He stepped back fully onto the sidewalk and blinked quickly, glancing from the cars now speeding pass and back up toward the little bit of space beneath the flyover.   
  
Maybe Harry was there, but maybe he wasn’t.   
  
But Louis never found out, instead walking back to his car, slipping inside, and driving away without a look back. Because Harry was the one who had run off and left only a note behind.   
  
**  
  
It was a Tuesday morning when Louis’ car broke down and he had to catch a train to class. He was seconds from boarding when a head of curls stole his attention from all of his other surroundings. His eyes widened just slightly, his heart missing a beat, and he was calling after the boy and tapping him on the shoulder just outside the train’s doors and –   
  
But the boy was not really a boy. A man, rather, with curls too tame and eyes too brown. He turned and looked at Louis with a cocked brow. “Sorry?” he wondered.   
  
“Oh,” Louis didn’t even try to hide the disappointment in his voice. “Sorry, mate, thought you were someone else.”   
  
The curly-haired man chuckled lightly before going the other way, while Louis boarded the train and headed to class.   
  
That Tuesday also marked Louis’ first failed quiz of the term.   
His mind was reeling too much to focus on theories.   
  
**  
  
But that day didn’t stop Louis from worrying about the boy. He wondered at times, if he wasn’t justified to even worry about Harry. Wondering, though, never stopped his worrying.   
  
It was a Thursday afternoon when his wondering got the best of him. Between classes, he found his way to the large public library in the heart of the city. It was grand and spacious, with pillars out front and too many floors but nowhere near enough books.   
  
But it was the public library. Anyone could walk through the front doors and stay inside until closing, taking advantage of all of its services – whether that be their computers or books or the Starbucks that had opened just recently, or maybe just to spend a few hours in the library’s warmth.   
  
Which is the thought that had led Louis to walk through the numerous stacks during his break between classes that exceptionally cold, wretched sort of day. The skies were grey and a wet, painful type of snow had been falling since the middle of the night. It was considerably miserable outdoors.   
  
So miserable, in fact, that Louis had spent his last class wondering what Harry did in this type of weather. Did he head indoors? Did he stay under that flyover?   
  
 _Reading._  
  
The single word had caught his attention as the professor began to discuss their coursework. Reading. Harry liked reading. It was such a simple thing, a thing that probably would lead him nowhere. But there was never any harm in hoping, was there?   
  
So with a single word tucked away in the depths of his mind, Louis began weaving his way mindlessly throughout the stacks. Though unlike his companions that afternoon, his eyes were more taken by the people around him than by the books. His gaze drifted from head to head as he went, looking for a familiar mop of brown curls.   
  
Three floors up and nearly forty minutes later, he was about to give up.   
  
But then – there he was.   
  
Curled around himself in a corner of one of the sofas, a book resting on his knees, there he was. His coat was draped over the end of the couch, and his curls were hanging, hiding his face as he looked down at his book. But it was him; it was Harry. His eyes were intent on the page, scanning from left to right, left to right, left to right, unaware of everyone and everything around him. Unaware of Louis currently staring at him.   
  
He looked content enough that Louis felt okay just observing from afar. He didn’t want to disturb him, after all. So he stayed where he was, just hidden at the end of one of the aisles, glancing around the end of the stacks and observing.   
  
Harry looked okay. His cheeks weren’t too sunken, at least. It looked like he was managing to find food somewhere, or so Louis hoped. Though his chin was a bit dark, his stubble not shaven close enough to look clean, and there were circles beneath his eyes. But there was a smile on his face.   
  
A genuine smile, one that pulled his lips back just far enough to reveal the slight denting of a dimple. He was, Louis noticed, happy. To be sitting here, inside, warm, with a book, he was happy.   
  
Happy enough that Louis left after only a couple minutes more, never interrupting the boy.   
  
Because Harry was there and he was smiling, and that was enough.   
  
Louis returned to the library around the same time each day that he could for the next week; brown curls were hunched over a book every time.   
  
**  
  
It was a Tuesday when a snowstorm hit the city. Louis was bundled up inside, thankful for canceled classes. Harry finally mustered up the courage to head back to the homeless shelter. It was crowded and a bit noisy, but it was indoors and he was given a warm meal and a bed for the night.   
  
Maybe, he thought, giving into help from time to time wasn’t all that bad.   
  
**  
  
It was a Friday night when Louis told his mom about Harry. She freaked out, like he had feared and anticipated all along.   
  
“Louis William Tomlinson, you did  _what_?” she shouted through the phone.   
  
Louis grimaced, holding the phone a bit farther from his ear. “It was just for a few days, Mum,” he replied, trying not to make it sound like all that big a deal. It hadn’t been a big deal, anyway.   
  
“But what did you even know about the boy, Louis?”   
  
He hesitated, sighing before admitting, “Not much?”   
  
“Louis…”  
  
“Mum, he’s a kid and he’s on the streets, what was I supposed to do?” he wondered. “Just let him head back out there?”   
  
His mom sighed this time, and he could imagine her slumped against the kitchen counter, massaging her temples. He’d seen that look before – that look caught between understanding and frustration, wanting to agree but needing to parent. He knew it all too well.   
  
“Louis,” she began, and he could hear how torn she was, “you know I wouldn’t want you to – ”  
  
“It’s not like I could have let him go back out there, Mum, not on Christmas Eve,” Louis interrupted. “Don’t try and tell me you would.”   
  
“Well, no, Lou, but what if he had turned out a bit… rough around the edges? I mean, what if you’d woken up the next day and your flat was wiped clean?”   
  
“Mum…”  
  
“I know it’s farfetched, Lou, but what if?” she pressed. “I’m not saying he would have, I’m sure he’s a sweet boy, but you didn’t know him then, Louis.”   
  
“But everything was fine, Mum.”   
  
“I know, darling, but…”   
  
“I know,” Louis assented with a deep breath. He knew. It was the same worries that Zayn had voiced before agreeing to let Harry stay that first night, the same worries that Louis also tried to swallow because Harry seemed like a nice enough guy. Fortunately, he was.   
  
Another sigh on the other end of the line drew Louis back to the conversation. “I know you mean well, Louis,” his mother stated again, “I just… I wish you’d think about things a bit more before you end up regretting it one of these days.”   
  
Louis unwillingly agreed that maybe he had been a tad rash in his thinking before, but his mother wrote it off. He was still young, after all. He was bound to make a few silly decisions along the way.   
  
It was a Friday night and Louis’ mother had told him goodnight with a warning to be more careful in the future.   
  
“But give me a ring the next time he comes around, won’t you?” she spoke before hanging up. “He sounds like a really nice guy, Lou. I wouldn’t mind getting to meet him.”   
  
Louis said he would; of course he would, and hung up with the perhaps foolish wish that Harry would come around soon.   
  
It had been three weeks.   
  
**  
  
It was a Tuesday when Louis finally plucked up the courage to break things off with Eleanor. But she beat him to the punch.   
  
“We need to… We should talk, Louis,” she began, shifting on the couch to turn and fully look at him.   
  
Louis nodded, silencing the television that had been playing the menu loop of a DVD for minutes now. “We should,” he agreed.   
  
Silence followed suit for a minute, neither quite knowing what to say. There was so much to say, anyway, so many things that they had both neglected to acknowledge over the past few months, so many things they had let get out of hand.   
  
But Eleanor was the first to speak up, having taken one of Louis’ hands in both of hers. “You know that, that formal I had mentioned a few weeks back? The one for that social organization I’m part of?” she asked, her voice rising just slightly with nerves as she played with his fingers for distraction.   
  
“The formal…” Louis bit his lip and was thankful that she wasn’t looking up. He’d nearly forgotten. “Right, that one, about that, El, I don’t think I can – ”  
  
“I asked Casey to go with me.”   
  
“Casey?” Louis’ eyes met Eleanor’s in confusion, but he understood as soon as he saw the tears welling and waiting to fall, the blush flaring across her cheeks. “Oh…”   
  
“Yeah, he’s… he’s really nice.”   
  
Louis could only nod, glancing away.   
  
“Look, Louis, I’m sorry, I just, I didn’t know if we would - ”  
  
“Don’t,” Louis cut her off with a breathy laugh, meeting her eyes and squeezing her hand. He fumbled with her fingers for a moment, running his thumb across her knuckles before placing a kiss to the back of her hand. “That’s, um… That’s actually what I wanted to talk with you about.”   
  
Eleanor cried that night, even though she said she had been expecting it – for months, she had claimed. But the tears came no matter how prepared she was, and Louis held her until the last one was brushed away.   
  
It was with a heavy heart that he left her that Tuesday night, not knowing when he would see her again, or if she would still call and text. She said she would, but her voice had trembled, and Louis was pretty sure he had said goodbye to a big part of his life that night.   
  
**   
  
Another storm hit the city that Saturday. It was strong and loud and miserable, bringing along piles of snow and shuddering gusts of wind. But Louis didn’t think about Harry once that weekend, not as he was cooped up in his flat with Zayn and Niall and a few bottles of liquor, both of his friends trying to keep his mind off of all things Eleanor.   
  
Though he couldn’t help but feel as though he were forgetting something the entire weekend.   
  
**  
  
It was another Tuesday when Louis missed his alarm. Whether he had turned it off in his stupor or forgotten to set it properly the night before, he wasn’t sure. But all he did know was that he was running late. He was running really, really late for class, which wasn’t good in the least – this professor always checked for attendance and took tardiness very seriously.   
  
“Shit,” he hissed as he struggled into a pair of jeans, missing the leg entirely and very nearly tumbling to the floor. He huffed and tried again, willing his body to try and breathe while also getting ready.   
  
“Zayn!” he called out to the flat, tugging on a t-shirt that he snatched from his drawer without ever giving it a glance. It hung far too loosely against his frame, but he didn’t have the time (or patience) to change. “You better get your ass out of that bathroom in five or I swear I’ll take a piss in the kitchen sink!”   
  
Zayn grumbled something down the hallway, but it was mumbled and muffled through the door. Louis only hoped his roommate wasn’t too sluggish. Of course on the one day that Louis so happened to be running late, Zayn would be stumbling through his morning routine with a speed slower than that of a sloth.   
  
Louis gave his roommate a couple more minutes (okay, several more seconds) to get out of his way, taking to sorting his supplies for class. He stuffed a textbook into his shoulder bag, shoving in alongside it a notebook and a couple pens and loose leaf paper and hell, he was running so late.   
  
“Zayn!” he called out in warning, throwing his bag down the hall and letting it slide toward the living room. “You better be – ”  
  
“You’re giving me a right headache this morning, Lou,” Zayn grunted, grimacing as he exited the bathroom. “I’m going back to bed.”   
  
“What about your class?” Louis managed to ask while squeezing out a strip of paste onto his toothbrush.   
  
Zayn scrunched up his face at the thought and made a sound that was frighteningly close to a whine. “Sick day,” he finally settled. “Or I’m skipping for the holiday.”   
  
“Ho’iday?” Louis asked around his toothbrush.   
  
“Yeah, mate, happy first of February,” Zayn said with a cheesy, sleepy grin and clapped Louis on the shoulder. “Thank  _fuck_  January is over. I’ll be in bed.”   
  
Louis chuckled and shook his head, pausing with brushing his teeth to fix his hair for a moment. What lovely bed head.  _Fantastic_ , he thought and spat into the sink, finishing up with a mouthful of water.   
  
Zayn’s bedroom door closed just as Louis made his way out of the bathroom and rushed back into his room. He snagged a grey beanie from his dresser and went to shove it on when there was a knock on the door.   
  
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he muttered with a glance at the clock.   
  
Louis was really growing to hate Tuesdays.   
  
He growled in frustration as he hurried out of his room and toward the living room, picking up his bag along the way. He grabbed his coat from the rack near the door and shrugged into it just as a second knock sounded.   
  
“Hold on,  _christ_ ,” Louis finished in a hiss as he shouldered his bag, shoved the beanie on his head, and yanked open the door to the flat, prepared to apologize to one of his neighbors for being so loud.  
  
But when he pulled open the door, the frustration and anxiety he had been feeling all morning seemed to vanish instantly.   
  
None of his neighbors were standing in the hallway, coming to tell him to keep it down or to ask for a favor or for any of the countless other things they had come knocking on his door for in the past.   
  
Instead standing at the threshold to Louis and Zayn’s flat that Tuesday morning, with a sheepish smile upon his face, was Harry.   
  
“Erm, hi,” the curly-haired boy greeted, a faint blush already in place on his cheeks. “Is now a bad time?”   
  
Perhaps Louis should have said yes. It was a bad time, after all. He had a class to get to and his grade to worry about and things to do.   
  
But all he could manage as Harry stared back at him that morning was a shake of the head and a bitten back smile before he drew the younger boy into a hug that was perhaps a bit too tight.   
  
But Harry didn’t mind it.   
  
~*~


	9. Who's Counting: Of Apologies and Nicknames

Harry pulled away from Louis after a moment, though not before allowing himself to squeeze once and breathe in that scent that had faded from his scarf. But there it was, all sweet and overwhelming and entirely Louis and Harry had to squeeze his eyes shut as he felt a prickling of unwanted moisture. He had no reason to cry, anyway.

“You’re back,” Louis stated as they broke apart. He nearly choked on the words, and the way his eyes were sparkling made it seem like it was the biggest deal in the world. But it really wasn’t, Harry told himself. It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. After all, he was only Harry.

So the younger boy just offered an easy grin. “Yeah,” he said and hoped it didn’t sound like he was barging in. “I, um,” he couldn’t decide what to say, so he chose the one word that came easiest, “hi.”

“Hey,” Louis smiled. “You want to… ?”

He didn’t finish the question, but it hung in the air, already well understood. Harry nodded and followed Louis inside without another word. The flat was just the same as before, not that Harry had expected much to change in a month. But there was something oddly comforting, to come back and see everything just as it had been. It was comforting and it felt right; it was just like… just  _like coming home_.

Harry knocked the thought away as he shrugged out of his coat, turning to set his gaze on Louis. But just as he did, his eyes finally took notice of Louis’ appearance – he was dressed haphazardly, bag slung over his shoulder, glasses set upon his nose. He looked like he was about to go to –

“You have class,” Harry concluded, his voice soft, if not a tad disappointed.

Louis’ blue eyes widened at the words and he glanced down at his bag, fumbling with the strap. “Oh no, well, I mean,” he ran through his words, “yes, I do, but I don’t need to –”

“Louis,” Harry broke him off. “Go to class.”

A beat of silence and then, “But you’re here.”

Harry refused to acknowledge the urgency in Louis’ voice. “I can be here afterward, too.”

Louis looked doubtful, hesitating by the door, neither staying nor going. “But you just got here,” he said after a minute, as though it were really a big deal. It really wasn’t. It shouldn’t have been. 

So Harry gave Louis a light smile, pulling his coat back on. “Louis, just go to class,” he explained before Louis could protest. “I’ll stop back by this afternoon, yeah? If that’s okay, I mean.”

“No,” the older boy responded a bit too quickly, gaining a weird look from Harry before he tacked on resolutely, “I mean, yes, that’d be fine, but just… stay here. There’s no reason for you to leave when you’re just going to come back in a few hours, right?” 

Harry almost said no; it wasn’t right. He shouldn’t have been staying in a place that wasn’t his, not when the owner himself wasn’t there. He should have just left and come back later, after Louis was done with class. But he instead found himself asking about Zayn’s presence, and soon enough not even five minutes had passed and Louis was backing out of the front door with a sort of wild look in his eyes that was flooded with uncertainty and disbelief – as though afraid that if he were to leave, Harry might not be there when he returned. 

“Just… you’re allowed to stay, okay?” Louis said for the fifth time before finally leaving the flat, but not before adding, “Oh, and your backpack’s in my closet! Didn’t touch anything, don’t worry. I should be back around one or so, yeah, see you then?” 

He had paused in the hall, his toe just nudging between the door and its frame so he could catch a quick glance back inside the flat. His eyes met Harry’s, and the younger boy couldn’t seem to hold back a snort. 

“Yeah,” he said, adding a nod for emphasis. “I’ll see you then, Lou.” 

Louis smiled then and turned to leave, but stopped short as Harry finished his sentence. Blue caught green in such a short moment it was barely worth mentioning. But Harry noticed, and he knew exactly why the older boy met his gaze before quickly letting the door fall shut behind him. 

 _Lou._  

He ran a hand through his shaggy curls, shaking his head. It had been a slip of the tongue, that’s all it had been. But he’d let it happen, he let that shorter, more comfortable name slip from the confines of his mind and out into the world as though it were the easiest thing he had ever done. And as he made his way to the room he remembered to be Louis’, he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe it was just that – an easy, simple, perhaps meaningless thing. It was just simpler to say, simpler to think. He felt as though he’d been referring to the older boy as “Lou” in his mind for a long while now. Besides, Zayn and Niall called Louis “Lou” all the time, from what Harry could remember, so what did it matter if he did the same? 

It didn’t, of course. People who were practically strangers shortened each other’s names all the time; it was a matter of convenience. It meant nothing. But to Harry, it seemed to matter a little. 

And when he leant down to sort through an unfortunate pile of clothes at the bottom of Louis’ closet and found the note he had left at Niall’s flat the morning he departed – scrawled on the back of a folded pizza take-away menu, nonetheless – next to his backpack, he was pretty certain it mattered a little to Louis as well. 

**

Harry took his time after Louis had left. He leisurely went about digging out his few toiletries and tried not to think too much about the traveling case that (presumably) Louis had placed his toothbrush in – a toothbrush that Louis had given Harry the first night he stayed in the flat, at that. He also tried not to think too much about the couple of spare outfits that had been not so inconspicuously shoved into the bottom of his pack. 

The shower was nice. 

Oh, was it nice. Harry hadn’t been afforded such a luxury in quite a while, having to instead resort to makeshift, paper-toweled sponge baths at the sinks of whatever public restroom he could stumble into that day. Those never were very good, but the cool water made him feel at least a little bit cleaner, a little more human. 

Though now the water trickling down his limbs was warm and gentle, unlike the harsh sprays he had been welcomed with at some of the public sinks. Even the few stalls at the one local homeless shelter were weak in comparison, with little pressure and water that never quite got warm enough. Standing in the shower at the flat though, with steam billowing out around him and a wall of enough soaps and shampoos to choose, there really was no comparison. 

He stood in the shower and just let the water run, let it flatten his curls and spray against his back in a hypnotizing rhythm. He watched as the water ran in rivers down his limbs, blinked as it washed away the grime and the cold and the memories of the past few weeks, all disappearing down the drain in a little swirl of soapy suds that was gone in the matter of a second. How simple it was to let go, to let the cold nights alone vanish down the drain without a care and instead let the tingly warmth envelope him and take him somewhere new, somewhere he could get used to. Because Harry could get used to this, the thought scampered across his mind as he rinsed the shampoo from his hair. He knew it wrong to think of this place as his home or as anything even remotely similar, but at the same time… he could get used to this. 

But  _no_ , he reasoned and even shook his head at himself.  _Not yet_. 

Regardless of how, how  _normal_  it felt to be back here, to have walked through the front door of the flat at 243C Mayberry Street that morning after being gone for so long, it was too soon to let such foolish thinking take place. Harry couldn’t –  _shouldn’t_  – get used to this. He had no right to get comfortable and no right to assume this pattern could become a constant. 

So Harry shook his head again and finished up, trying his best to ignore the low pull in his stomach, the way his body was yearning to stay and subconsciously begging him to not leave again, to just let this  _be_  – whatever it was – just let it happen. 

And for today, he would. 

There was no harm in relishing in the comfort and the heat for a day. And so it was with a clear conscience that Harry turned off the shower, brushed his teeth, and took his time shaving until his face was the smoothest it had been in just over a month. It was only just over an hour later when Harry tugged on the green beanie Louis had let him wear before and briefly wondered if the older boy would notice that he chose to wear one of those spare outfits that had found its way into the bottom of his backpack – but he quickly shook that thought aside. It didn’t matter whether or not Louis noticed, anyway. 

He let his toothbrush rest in the holder by the bathroom sink, next to two others. It didn’t look all that out of place. But Harry didn’t dwell on it, not as he spared the clock above the toilet a quick glance and found it only twenty till one. His insides trembled just a tad, and it was with a bit of a bounce in his step that he walked out to the living room and settled into a corner of the couch, flipping on the telly with a smile set upon his lips. Not that he was anticipating Louis’ return in twenty minutes or anything. It’s not as though he were eager, he was just… Well, he  _had_  come to visit, after all; it’s not as though he wanted to spend his day alone in a flat that wasn’t his. 

That’s all it was, really. 

He wasn’t excited. 

But he was stuck in his thoughts, thinking of ways aplenty to explain his return to Louis once the older boy was back from class. He hadn’t exactly planned that out. The night before had merely been frightfully cold and bitter and when the first signs of light were showing and Harry was still fighting on and off with sleep, Louis was the only thing Harry could seem to think of. Which was weird, but Harry tried not to think too far into it, instead just letting his feet carry him to the familiar front door of a flat he hadn’t seen in over a month. And when minutes passed and he realized he had been standing there rather dumbly, he finally raised his hand to knock, simply because turning away felt like an even stupider thing to do. 

So he stayed, and when Louis opened up the door and their eyes met, it suddenly didn’t feel like his feet had led him too astray at all, not when Louis wrapped him into a hug so tight Harry was certain it might leave a bruise. 

He was thankful, though, when Louis had to leave for class. It gave him time to think of a reason, think of something to say, something that would warrant his presence again so soon – and before he even had time to gather money to repay his previous stay. But here he was, still empty-handed with empty pockets and empty motives. What kept driving him here, driving him back to Louis, he still wasn’t sure. But he wasn’t given the time to consider such for much longer, not as a groggy voice spoke up behind him. 

“Harry?” 

The younger boy nearly jumped out of his skin as he turned toward the voice, finding a sleepy looking Zayn rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Yeah, erm, hi,” he greeted. 

Zayn let out a tired sigh before bothering to speak again. “When did you,” he started and then stopped, a crease settling along his brow as his dark eyes fell fully upon Harry, “how did you get in?”

“Um, Louis?” Harry supplied, though hesitant to consider what other options there were. Zayn couldn’t have thought he broke in, or? 

“Makes sense,” Zayn responded simply with another yawn as he rounded the end of the couch and plopped down next to Harry. A dopey sort of smile perked his features then, and he nudged Harry’s shoulder with his own. “Good to see you back, mate.” 

“Yeah?” Harry wondered aloud and turned his head to meet Zayn’s eyes directly. He bit his tongue to hold back the questions that were stacking up at the front of his mind, wondering if Zayn were still too asleep to realize what he was saying, or if his words were genuine. He managed to keep from asking anymore, but he couldn’t stop from commenting, “You don’t sound too surprised to see me.” 

Laughter met the younger boy’s ears, and his brow scrunched up in confusion at the sight he saw – a chuckling Zayn, eyes bunched up with humor. The older boy’s shoulders shook with his laughter for a few moments before he ended his chortles with an easy shrug. “Where else would you have gone?” 

Harry fish-mouthed for a response at first, before promptly closing his jaw and glancing away, his eyes set upon the television set that had since been muted. “I… I don’t know,” he admitted quietly after a moment, his voice gentle and not much louder than a defeated whisper. 

When he finally brought his eyes back to Zayn, he found the older boy smiling at him. It wasn’t a patronizing smile, but nor was it an understanding one – how could he understand, anyway? Their gazes stuck for a moment just long enough for Zayn to give Harry’s shoulder a quick squeeze. “Exactly my point,” was all he said before continuing and switching gears entirely, “Yeah, well, anyway, I think Lou’s going to blow a gasket when he gets home.”

“You think?” Harry couldn’t seem to keep his brow from furrowing yet again. “Why?” 

“I know Louis might not show it, but damn, Harry, he…” the older boy trailed off, shaking his head. “He was  _really_  worried about you. We all were I mean, but Lou especially.” 

“ _We?_ ” 

“Yeah,” Zayn shrugged, a hint of a smile tickling the corner of his mouth as he looked away. “Y’know, Niall, Josh, all of us.” 

Harry normally would have quickly said something along the lines of, “Well you shouldn’t have,” and he would have believed his own words. But there was something in the way Zayn had admitted it—sincerity, maybe—that kept the curly-haired boy from saying such. Instead, he worried his lower lip for a moment and couldn’t seem to bring his eyes back to Zayn’s as he replied with an unanticipated shake to his voice, “I-I’m sorry.” 

Zayn just nudged Harry’s shoulder with his own again, smiling slightly. “You’re here now, mate, that’s all that matters.” 

And Harry couldn’t seem to help but think that being here maybe wasn’t so bad after all. 

**

If there were one thing Harry wasn’t prepared for or expecting when he returned to Louis and Zayn’s flat, it was being tackled into the couch by an overly shocked Niall at full-speed. 

But that’s exactly what happened later that evening, hours after Louis had returned from class and just minutes before he had coaxed Harry into going out for a “good meal” together. “On account that you’ve probably been eating junk food or something,” Louis had said with a shrug, and Harry couldn’t deny such an assumption – though said junk food was only whenever he could manage enough change to buy a bag of crisps or a slice of pizza from a nearby shop. If his stomach weren’t so adamant, he might have saved some of his money – coins found by luck or thrown into a cup by some of the more generous people of the city – for more substantial food. But being a teenage boy, he hadn’t such control. Nor did he have the control to politely decline when Louis told him he knew of a diner not too far away with some of the best home-cooked food he’s ever tasted. 

And Harry was just standing up from the couch to grab his coat (which he actually did call  _his_ , finally) so they could leave. when there was a knock on the door. 

“And that’d be Nialler,” Zayn remarked, already halfway to the door. 

“Oooh yeah, hot date night, I almost forgot,” Louis quipped with a grin while tugging on his own coat. 

Zayn snorted. “Like you’re one to talk, mate.”

“ _Zayn_!” 

Harry pretended not to hear, though he would have had to actually been blind not to at least notice the shade of rosy pink that swept swiftly across Louis’ entire face and the way his eyes widened like saucers. He bit his lip to hold back a chuckle; it had only been a joke anyway. Just banter… Right? 

But Louis was blushing up to his hairline, and Harry would have thought it curious if his thoughts weren’t then interrupted by a jolt of a shout and a not so light, crushing hug. 

“LITTLE HAZZA, YOU’RE ALIVE!” 

Harry fell back into the couch with a grunt of surprise, limp beneath Niall’s limbs that were currently keeping him from moving so much as his pinky finger. “Should I not be?” he managed to choke out, despite the constriction of air finding its way to his lungs. 

“No! You should be!” Niall explained and pushed himself far enough off of Harry to look the younger boy in the eyes. “We just didn’t know where you were,” he continued, frowning a tad too dramatically for the situation. But his voice lowered to a more serious tone as he leveled with Harry, “That wasn’t cool, man.” 

Harry didn’t know what to say. 

Did he apologize? For what, for leaving? It wasn’t his place to stay; he couldn’t. It wasn’t his home, it wasn’t even close. But here was Niall, a boy who barely even knew Harry, nearly chastising him for leaving, and Harry couldn’t recall the last time he had felt such guilt. 

“I’m sorry,” found its way out of his mouth before he could even think of something else to say. It was the second time that day he had said it. It was also the second time that day those words were the only thing fitting enough to say. 

Niall’s lips parted as though to say something more, but Louis cut him off, tugging slightly at the blond boy’s shirtsleeve. “Come on, Ni,” he urged quietly, his eyes shifting toward Harry every few seconds, as though trying to gauge his reaction, to see what he was thinking, to perhaps see if this weren’t too much. Harry cocked a brow at him, and Louis shied away, turning back to Niall. “Off before your boyfriend starts to get jealous again,” he chided quickly – a bit too quickly. 

“Jealous?” Zayn echoed before Harry could question Louis’ demeanor. “ _Again?_ Excuse me, when do I get jealous?” 

“Just sometimes you get a bit…”

“Protective,” Louis supplied for Niall while Harry made his way toward the door, observing the scene with the hint of a smile brushing just the corner of his lips. 

Zayn’s brows were dipped in confusion. “Do I?” 

“At times,” Niall grinned. 

“But it’s normal,” Louis assured his friend as he came to stand beside him. “Don’t worry about it, mate.” 

But worry was clearly the only thing Zayn could do after that, as he joined Niall on the couch with his features still contorted in fret and sudden anxiety. Niall was quick to comfort him and shot Louis an annoyed, “Thanks a lot,” before he and Harry could make their escape for the evening. 

Which the two did just moments later, hurrying down the steps of the flat and out the front door, into the crisp chill of the early February night. The sky was already long since dark, spotted with few stars and a moon that did little to illuminate the world below. The streets were mostly bare. Most people were already tucked away for a weeknight indoors, while others were speeding past in cars beneath the streetlamps that already shone brightly. 

Louis, though, gestured down the block and set them both out on foot, zipping his coat up to his chin. “Sorry about that, by the way,” he said after they had already made it halfway down the block in relative silence, save for directions. 

“About what?”

“Niall,” the older boy answered, at first with no more explanation than that. But he turned to find Harry furrowing his brow at him, and added, “He was kind of giving you a hard time back there, for, um, you know, leaving and all. It was kind of really uncalled for, I mean.” 

Harry bit his lip, his eyes since lowered to watch his feet as he walked. “Oh,” was all he replied. 

“Yeah,” Louis continued, though uncertain of where to go at first. “He can be a bit dramatic at times, I guess you’ve noticed.” 

Harry let out a light chuckle, breathless against the cool air. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I’ve noticed.” 

“And he gets attached pretty easily.” 

“Does he?” Harry wondered and didn’t very much listen for whether or not Louis had anything else to add. Something else had been bothering him too much, ever since he had returned, since Louis had hugged him so tightly, since Zayn had sounded genuinely relieved to see him. And before he could register whether or not the older boy was talking, he sputtered without preamble, “I’m sorry.” 

When he turned, blue was already staring at him, searching for enlightenment, for clarification. 

He looked away before continuing, before able to find his voice. “I-I didn’t mean to make you all worry, about me I mean. I… I honestly didn’t think you would.” He ended quietly, his voice almost swallowed by the traffic growing around them. 

A sour sort of snigger met his ears, as cold as the wind. “You didn’t think we would care?” Lou asked, and Harry didn’t want to turn and meet his eyes, afraid of the look that he was sure would be set upon him. 

But he at least had the right mind to respond. “You guys didn’t even know me for all that long, anyway.” 

He had expected Louis to say something slightly contradictory, try to throw something at him about how foolish he was for just leaving like he had. What he hadn’t expected was, “ _Christ_ , Harry, you just don’t get it, do you?” 

His eyebrows knitted together in the middle and he turned to meet Louis’ gaze. Blue was hidden beneath a creased, troubled brow, and Harry was thankful when the older boy continued without his cue. 

“Of course we worried about you,” he started, his steps slowing to a halt in the middle of the footpath. Blue held green, as he continued not loud enough to draw any nearby gazes, though they were very nearly alone outdoors that evening. “You can’t just walk into someone’s life and expect them not to care, Harry. Whether you’re there for two days, five, eight, two weeks, half a year, what have you… they’re going to think about you. That’s just how it is, Harry. You can’t just pick up and leave and assume that no one’s going to remember you.” 

Louis’ voice seemed to echo in the silence as he finished, and Harry broke his eyes away from the older boy’s, uncertain of where to look, of what to do. He sucked in his lower lip and focused his gaze on the concrete before him, watching the few flakes of snow fall and melt against the pavement, waiting, waiting, waiting for something to come to mind, something worthy enough of saying aloud to that. 

But before he could even fathom together enough words to piece together into a sentence, Louis was already backtracking. 

“I’m sorry,” the older boy spoke up quickly, the bit of sourness that had seeped into his tone gone entirely. “I didn’t mean to… It’s not my—”

“No, you’re right,” Harry finally replied, cutting him off and meeting his eyes once more. A broken kind of smile was spread tentatively across his lips. “You’re right. I was just… I was really hoping I hadn’t stuck around long enough to leave behind any sort of impression.” 

The look that claimed Louis’ eyes at Harry’s words was enough to cause the younger of the two to look away. 

“Well, you did,” Louis remarked, though not at all harshly. 

“Apparently,” Harry admitted. “I’m sorry.” 

“Then why’d you come back?” 

Green turned on blue then, confusion spread between them. “What?” 

“If you didn’t want us to remember you, to worry about you even a little,” Louis wondered softly, the curiosity in his voice mixed with a hint of something Harry didn’t want to place, “then why would you come back?” 

Harry sucked in a breath at that. It was the question he had been waiting for, the one that had been eating at the back of his mind since showing up at the flat that morning. The one that he still wasn’t sure he had an answer for, at least not an answer he wanted to share, let alone admit to himself. 

But as he kept his eyes set with Louis’ that evening, the snow beginning to fall with a greater speed around them, he found his lips moving before he could stop them – a habit they had a knack for whenever in the older boy’s presence, it seemed. A habit, admittedly, he wasn’t all that sure he minded. 

“Because I think I… I think I might’ve been lonely.” 

His words ended with the rising of a question, and he wasn’t sure of the last time he had been hugged so tightly. But he certainly didn’t mind it, and he certainly didn’t fight it. 

“I’m glad you’re back, Harry,” Louis nearly whispered into the younger boy’s shoulder, but Harry heard it and couldn’t help but silently agree. Because despite how many times he had convinced himself that being alone was easiest, that keeping his debt – both physically and emotionally – as low as he possibly could was for the best, knowing that someone was glad to see him, that somebody  _cared_ , was so unfathomable that he couldn’t find it within him to care about debt or guilt or anything of the like. 

Because Louis was here. Louis, the blue-eyed stranger with the kind smile and a heart almost too big for a person, was holding him tightly and gave a damn whether or not Harry was alive. Because Louis cared. 

And for the first time in a long while, Harry didn’t feel so little, so alone, so insignificant. 

Rather, he felt alive. 

**

“You know,” Louis spoke up sometime later over their finished plates, “you’re welcome to stay.” 

Harry lifted a brow across the table, pulling his fork from his lips. “Stay?” 

“At the flat,” the older boy explained, though his words were unnecessary. But his cheeks were falling victim to a slight blush, and Harry had to bite his cheek to keep from letting loose something that might have sounded like a giggle. “With Zayn and me, you’re allowed to stay, for more than tonight I mean.” 

“Oh,” Harry said and had to bite back his smile. “I know.” 

The older boy looked nothing short of flabbergasted. “Sorry? You  _know_?” 

“Well, not that I assumed or anything, I didn’t, I mean,” Harry was quick to explain, nearly tripping over his words as his smile vanished beneath his teeth and an embarrassed blush. “It’s just… Zayn kind of already told me I could.” 

“Did he now?” Louis couldn’t help a chuckle. “That little shit,” he muttered beneath a smile. “But he’s right. You can.” 

Harry sent Louis a grateful smile, and he let a minute pass by unused before adding, “Thank you.” 

It was only one of many times that the younger boy had said “thank you” during that meal alone. He was certain Louis would tire of hearing it by the end of the evening, but it seemed the only term fitting for most of what was happening – from being given another meal, another chance to stay somewhere warm, again for an undeclared amount of time. What else could he say? 

And even when dessert had long since been consumed – some of the richest dark chocolate cake Harry had ever had the pleasure to taste – and the two of them were just shy of a block from the flat, it was still the only thing Harry could think to say. 

“Hey, Lou?” he began quietly. The nickname stuck in the air, still fresh to both their ears. Harry tried to ignore the simplicity with which it slid off of his tongue. 

Louis only smiled in the late evening. “Yeah?” 

“Thanks.” 

This time the older boy sighed, almost sounding frustrated. “Harry…” he nearly whined, “I already told you, you don’t have to thank me for every meal, really. It’s, it kind of gets embarrassing, to be honest.” 

“I know, no, I wasn’t, I just,” Harry trailed off, letting silence wrap around them for a few moments more before breaking it with as gentle a voice as he could manage. “Thanks. For today. I… it wasn’t a half bad way to spend a birthday. I’m just glad I got to spend it with someone I know. Couple months ago I thought I’d be celebrating under a bridge or something, so this is pretty… spectacular, in retrospect, if that makes any sense.” 

Louis turned on him at that point, stopping his steps entirely. “Today’s your birthday?” was all he said, though his eyes were glistening with so much more, shining with something like excitement. 

Harry just nodded in reply. 

With a grin so wide Harry thought it might break the older boy’s lips, Louis slipped his arm around Harry’s, scooting a bit closer with the movement as they began to walk again. Their sides were flush together, and Louis leaned into Harry in such a way that the younger boy’s cheeks darkened and his ears began to burn with more than just the cold. 

“Well,” Louis settled in a singsong tone, a bounce in his step. “Happy birthday, Haz.” 

And Harry couldn’t remember ever receiving a better birthday gift than that nickname. 

Not even the pair of new white Converse that ended up beside the couch late the following morning (sporting the note –  _please don’t try to give these back, a gift’s a gift – Happy 18th birthday, Haz!_ ) could warm his heart in quite the same way as that three-lettered nickname. 

~*~


	10. Who's Counting: Attached

Harry kept the shoes. 

Perhaps he was only indulging Louis for a bit, but he kept them. He didn’t try to thrust them back on Louis, like he had with every other little thing the older boy had given him (and gifted him), nor did he ask Louis to  _please_  take them back, as Louis was honestly afraid of when he purchased them the morning after Harry’s return. 

Louis hadn’t even planned on buying them for Harry. He’d just passed a line of stores on the way home from his early morning class, saw a pair of Converse on display in one of the shop windows, and before he even took much thought to it he was sending a text off to Zayn to steal a peek at Harry’s shoe size and accepting the shoes, bagged and all, from the salesman. When he got home and left them for Harry to find, he wasn’t expecting much. 

But now Harry was showered and dressed and walking into the little kitchen with his new shoes laced up and clean and hole-free. “Hi,” he greeted softly, an easy smile hanging gently from his lips. 

“Hi,” Louis reciprocated after a few seconds. He hadn’t even expected the shoes to be taken out of the box. “Sleep well?” 

“Best sleep in a month, actually,” Harry admitted sheepishly, his eyes sinking with a blush. He turned at the counter and stopped with his hand on one of the cabinets. “Can I…?”

It was the cabinet that held all of the cereals and other dry, boxed foods; Louis was surprised Harry remembered which was which. But he nodded from his spot at the table, clearing his throat. “Yeah, yeah, ‘course, Haz, help yourself. You know you don’t have to ask.” 

Harry’s eyes jumped to Louis’ at the nickname, like he’d forgotten about it since the night before. Green held blue for a moment that might have been too long, but Louis let it last as long as it could, as long as it needed to. Seconds lumped together before a warm smile spread across the younger boy’s lips as he looked away, busying himself with pouring a bowl of cereal, and nodded a silent word of thanks. 

“So,” Louis pointed his gaze toward Harry’s shoes as the younger boy brought a bowl of cornflakes to the table. He cocked one eyebrow as if to ask,  _do you like them?_

Harry simply glanced down at his feet and then away, locking his eyes on his breakfast, bit back a smile that might have been too large, and blushed to the very tips of his ears. 

The sight sent Louis’ heart stuttering and then soaring, if he could say such. It had him grinning and shaking his head as he turned back to his textbook, tacking on a light, simple, “Good.” 

That was the last (and most) they spoke of the shoes. Any more discussion on the matter and Louis knew Harry would be stumbling over his words and peeling off the shoes to return them. It’s just… It’s just how Harry was, that much Louis knew. Harry wasn’t good at accepting gifts, and perhaps that just had to do with his current predicament, or maybe it was just in his nature. Louis didn’t know, not yet. But he knew better than to give more than Harry could take. He was learning what was alright to offer and what was too much, at least in Harry’s eyes. A shower, some food, just a lumpy couch to sleep on; those were things that Harry could handle, if offered simply. But money and luxury items, things that weren’t necessary; those were out of the question. They were too much to offer, too much for Harry to accept, and the shoes were pushing it. 

But maybe,  _just maybe_ , Louis thought, Harry was settling in. 

Maybe Harry was relaxing into the idea that Louis was actually his  _friend_ , not just some stranger putting him up until he could stand on his own two feet again. Maybe he was learning that friends could give without malice and expectations, and take without guilt. Maybe he was learning that it was okay to have needs and okay not to be able to fulfill all of those needs on his own. Maybe he was adjusting to the idea that help is okay to receive. Maybe he was growing to let people in. 

And maybe, just maybe, out of all of the people in the world, he was choosing to let in Louis. 

**

“So he’s back,” Niall said in greeting Friday morning as he slid into line beside Louis at the coffee stand just inside the university library’s entrance. It wasn’t a question. The Irishman already knew the answer, but the way he said it had Louis swallowing a lump in his throat before speaking. 

“He’s back,” he parroted, nodding once. 

Niall’s eyes were alight with mischief. “Gone for a month without a word and he just shows back up on your doorstep, of all places, out of the blue. Don’t you think that’s just a bit weird, mate?” 

Louis knitted his brow together and took a step forward with the line, pointedly avoiding what Niall was insinuating. “It’s not that weird, Nialler, he stayed with us for over a week before that. It’s not like he would have just forgotten where we live.” 

“You know what I mean, Lou, don’t play dumb,” Niall replied, meeting his eyes. “He could have gone home.” 

“We don’t know that.”

The blonde rolled his eyes. “Right, fine, we don’t, but he could have gone elsewhere, y’know, met someone else, mooched off of other people, richer people even. But my point is, he didn’t.” 

Their gazes held for a moment, and Louis was thinking of a response when the line moved again and brought him to the front. He broke his eyes from Niall’s, which were saying more than he really wanted to listen to, and ordered a peppermint cappuccino in a small, quick voice. His thoughts were elsewhere, spinning away on tangents and concocting reasons that he knew were far from the truth. Or at least, reasons he believed to be far from the truth. 

“He chose you, Lou,” Niall continued after ordering and stepping to the side to wait beside Louis. He was staring straight ahead at the menu behind the counter, but he glanced away after a moment, bright eyes settling on the brunette with a twinkle. A smile turned up just the very corners of his lips. “He could have gone anywhere else in the world, but he came back to you.” 

He had. Louis couldn’t deny that. But he shrugged and swallowed his smile as best he could. “It’s not like he has money just sitting around, he couldn’t have gone  _anywhere_. It was probably out of convenience, really.” 

“Convenient or not, he didn’t have to come back,” Niall pressed, now looking fully at his friend. “But he did.” 

“So?” 

“So maybe you need to stop acting like he’s just some kid sleeping on your couch—” 

“He’s not a kid—”

“Whatever, kid, bloke, lad, guy, young upstanding gentleman, whatever, Lou, but maybe you really need to consider that he’s more than just some person asking you for help just because you’re quote, unquote convenient.”

“Maybe,” was all Louis said after a moment before accepting his beverage and waiting another minute until Niall was handed his coffee as well. The two left the library side-by-side, warm drinks held close to their faces as they were met with the brisk morning wind. Winter was in full swing and past the point of pleasant; dreamy snowfalls had instead been replaced by dull, grey days and pelting snow that stuck around long enough to turn into a miserable, drab slush along every sidewalk. 

Louis sidestepped a mound of the slush at the curb as they crossed the street. He let another minute pass unused before daring to part his lips, and when he finally did, his voice came softly, “He said he was lonely.” 

Niall raised his brow, glancing over the top rim of his cup. 

“The other night, I, I asked him why he came back, since it was so… random, y’know? No sudden storm or harsh weather or anything,” Louis took to explaining and chose to keep his eyes locked on the ground before him, rather than watch his friend beside him. He already knew Niall was grinning. “I asked him, and he told me that he was lonely.” 

The blonde nearly gawked. “Harry came back  _because he was lonely_ , and you have the guts to try and convince me it’s because you’re just somehow convenient help?” 

A blush flared across Louis’ already rosy cheeks, but he shrugged. “It’s not a big deal.” It really wasn’t. 

“Right, right, because a boy choosing to come back to you because he’s  _lonely_  is a natural occurrence, an every day sort of thing,” Niall summarized with a sarcastic bobbing of his head while he spoke, his eyes rolling in exasperation. “Jesus, Lou, I never knew you to be so daft.” 

Louis sighed with a grunt. “I’m not daft, Ni, and besides,” his face screwed up into something of an uncertain frown. “It was his birthday. No one wants to be alone on their birthday.” 

“I guess, but – whoa whoa whoa, wait, birthday? Harry’s birthday?” Niall’s face lit up, lips peeled into a wide grin and eyes gleaming, already distracted from the main point of their conversation. “When was this? And why didn’t you tell me? You know I love birthdays!” 

“It was Tuesday,” Louis told him with an apologetic look. “And sorry, but I didn’t know myself until we were already heading back from dinner.”

“You still could’ve told me.” 

“I didn’t see you between then and now, Niall.” 

“I know, but,” the blonde cut himself off with a sigh, his shoulders sagging. He was silent for a moment as they continued the walk toward class until, “We still can.” A wicked kind of grin swept across his features. 

“Still can what, exactly?” 

“Celebrate!” 

“Oh.” 

“Aw, c’mon, it’ll be brilliant!” 

Louis grimaced. “I don’t know, Ni…” 

“Nothing too over the top, I promise, I won’t even drink—” Louis’ pointed look cut the blonde off entirely. Niall at least had the decency to blush. “Okay,” he reasoned with a sheepish smile, “I won’t drink as much as I normally do, okay?” 

“Okay, but still,” Louis hesitated, “I don’t know if Harry would want to celebrate like that. He’s not…” Louis didn’t know. He couldn’t find the word to finish his thought, yet he just had the sense, the impression that Harry wouldn’t be up for another round of Niall’s drunken antics. The younger boy had been so reserved and uncertain of himself on New Year’s Eve, and whatever the ultimate reason was for him to leave the following morning, Louis didn’t want to chance repeating it. Not so soon, not after Harry had only been back for a couple of days. A couple of days during which he had fallen right back into place, fitting into the flat and propping himself back up in Louis’ life so seamlessly that it felt a crime to imagine he didn’t belong. 

He just fit. It was scary, Louis thought, how easily Harry had slid into his life. Despite still knowing so little about him, the mere thought of Harry picking up and leaving without a word again made Louis nervous. He hadn’t been lying the other night when he told Harry that he had worried about him, thought about him, cared about him while he was away. He had, because Harry had snuck his way into Louis’ life without preamble and made himself a spot there, comfortable and warm and right. He fit and it made Louis worry because Harry could sneak out as easily as he had snuck in, but it seemed he could never really leave, not really, not entirely. Even when he had left, he was still there, still in Louis’ thoughts. That scared him. 

It scared him to the point where he got nervous every time he woke up and walked into the living room, uncertain if Harry would still be sprawled out on the couch. It was foolish, he knew; it had only been a few days. But he didn’t want to risk it. He didn’t want to risk overwhelming Harry. He didn’t want to push things too far. 

A squeeze at his forearm pulled him from his thoughts, and he blinked as he found Niall staring at him with wide, open blue eyes. They swam with something like sympathy. “He’s not gonna leave just because we sing happy birthday and give him a slice of cake, Lou. He’s not gonna leave just because of something like that.” 

“How can you be so sure?” 

The blonde shrugged, smiling. “Because he came back, didn’t he?” 

“Yeah, but—”

“He chose you, Lou,” Niall cut him off and said it as though it explained everything, as though it should give him all the reassurance he so dearly needed. But then, “He chose you and he came back to  _you_  when he was lonely because he’s not lonely when he’s around you, Louis. He’s not. He’s getting attached and he’s getting attached to you.” 

Louis looked to say something more, parting his lips to refute. But the silence took seconds and then a minute and then two, and he found that he couldn’t. 

**

“Niall wants to take you out.” 

Harry sprung up from his lounged position to shoot Louis a confused, yet horrified, look over the back of the couch as the older boy entered the flat later that afternoon. “He  _what_?” 

Louis chuckled while toeing off his shoes (and smiling at the pair of white Converse that rested neatly beside them by the door) and chucking his messenger bag and coat. “Well, okay, he wants to take all of us out,” Louis clarified and couldn’t help laughing a bit more as Harry noticeably relaxed at his words. “But mainly for you.” 

The younger boy’s brow furrowed. “Erm, okay?” 

“I might have let it slip that your birthday was the other day,” Louis continued to explain as he rounded the end of the couch and batted Harry’s feet to make room; Harry obliged. “So he wants to have a go at a little celebration, if you’re willing.” 

“Oh.” Harry’s cheeks fell to a blush as they so often did, and he looked away, green bouncing around the living room with uncertainty. “That’s really not necessary, I mean I don’t—” 

“I should probably mention that Niall won’t let a birthday go unnoticed. They’re kind of his thing.” 

Harry glanced toward Louis with a bitten lip. “So I don’t really have a choice?” 

“Oh, you do, of course you do,” Louis reassured him. “It’d probably just be a good idea to go along with whatever he has planned now rather than let it wait. Putting it off just gives Niall time to plan greater, more embarrassing things. Like surprise parties.” 

Harry swallowed thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “What’s he have planned for tonight?” 

“Tonight’ll be simple. Just dinner with the lads and I don’t know, whatever you want to do, really, and Niall will just pick up the tab. I think he mentioned bowling as a possibility.” 

Harry scrunched up his face in dislike, and Louis laughed. 

“Okay, okay, no bowling, noted. Nialler was just eager and throwing out random ideas and has no clue what you like to do for fun, so pardon the suggestion,” Louis chuckled. “But he also mentioned swimming and it’s February, so I don’t think he was thinking too hard about it, to be honest. Anything you want to do, though. Within reason.” 

The curly-haired boy cracked a grin at that one and shook out his hair before sweeping his fringe back across his forehead, a habit Louis had just begun to notice. His cheeks were still tinted with an endearing shade of pink when he looked back at Louis. “Anything?” he wondered. 

“Anything short of a roundtrip to Jamaica, let’s limit it.” 

“Pity, that’s exactly what I wanted,” Harry jested and feigned disappointment, earning a jostle to the leg for him to  _be serious, Haz_. “Alright, alright, I, erm…” He ducked his head slightly after a moment, eyes dropping to his lap along with his voice. “Do you think we could just, I don’t know, go to the cinema or something?” His voice was small with the suggestion and his ears nearly glowed with his blush, but he looked up after a few seconds, green meeting blue in a hopeful sort of way. 

“Just the cinema?” Louis repeated, unnecessarily. 

“Yeah.” Harry sucked in his lower lip again, his hands distractedly toying with the fraying knee of his thinning jeans. “I know it’s not, like, a big thing or anything, but it’s just… I haven’t been to see a movie in months. It’s a stupid thing to miss, but I, I don’t know, thought it would be nice, maybe.” 

A smile tugged at Louis’ lips, and he gave Harry’s leg a light squeeze to earn his attention. “I think the cinema sounds like a great idea.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” Louis nodded. 

Harry exhaled an audible breath and his shoulders relaxed, the left corner of his mouth pulling back into just a hint of a smile. 

“So long as you can put up with Zayn and Niall snogging in the back row,” Louis teased after a moment, and Harry’s face broke with a bark of laughter. 

“I think I can handle that.” 

“Then I’ll give Niall a call and let him know not to pull out his bowling shoes or swim trunks or any of that, alright?” 

“Yeah, alright,” Harry said with a smile that reached all the way up to his eyes. It was a rare sight, that kind of smile, and it had Louis forgetting to breathe for just a short moment in time. He forced his eyes away as he stood from the couch and pulled his phone from the pocket of his trousers, already making to leave the room when Harry called after him. “Lou, tell him I say thanks ahead of time, yeah?” 

Louis turned just as the living room opened into the short hallway leading to the bedrooms. Harry was turned to look over the back of the couch again and he was smiling and he looked so at ease where he was, relaxed against the couch with a grin and a nickname and a word of thanks on his lips, and it looked so normal. It felt so normal, so ordinary and common that Louis could only offer a slight nod of the head before disappearing into his room to give Niall a call. 

**

Dinner was nothing too special. 

At least, that’s what Louis thought going into it. Niall had made reservations at a fairly upscale ( _“None of the meals are under ten quid, that’s some ritzy shit, okay.”_ ) restaurant near the heart of the city. Louis had been there a couple of times, for celebratory meals and even a couple of dates with Eleanor when they were together. He didn’t think it all that fancy, at least he didn’t remember it being anything spectacular. 

But the look on Harry’s face as they were seated was enough to make Louis scrap every prior judgment of the place; Harry was beaming. The younger boy’s eyes were shimmering with awe as he looked around, not unlike a child stepping foot into a candy store. His eyes only widened as he looked at the menu options. 

“Niall,” he spoke up softly overtop his menu before they even ordered their drinks. “You know I would’ve been alright with McDonald’s.” 

“Now you tell me,” the blonde joked, chuckling as he gave Harry’s shoulder a playful shove. “No, hush up and order something good. I felt like splurging and you get to enjoy it, okay?” 

“There’s no point in arguing, Harry,” Zayn added just as Harry was about to protest. 

“Seriously though,” Josh said from across the table. “Nialler likes splurging every now and then. He dragged me to this really, like, posh restaurant for my 21st last year. It was ridiculous, even had to wear a suit and tie, but he wouldn’t let me go anywhere else. So… humor him, just for tonight,” he finished in a whisper as though Niall wouldn’t be able to hear him. The blonde glared and jerked slightly, after which Josh yelped and jumped, his knee banging into the table. “Jesus, Niall, behave.” 

“Maybe I would if you guys would stop mocking me.” 

“We’re not mocking you, babe,” Zayn assured him with a squeeze to the hand. “It’s just that, well, normal people usually give presents for birthdays.” 

“Food is a present!” Niall argued, raising his voice perhaps just a bit too much. 

The whole table shushed him, except for Harry who was biting back a laugh. 

“And it’s a grand present,” Harry commented after Niall had settled back down with a huff. “Really, it is. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful.” 

“You weren’t, it was this lot,” Niall jerked his head toward the others, “who’s pissing me off. I mean Lou didn’t even let me take him out on his birthday.” 

“No, but you took me out in January,” Louis reminded him. 

But Niall only pouted, slouching back in his chair. “It’s not the same two weeks after.” 

The conversation dropped off after that, falling in bits and pieces about life and classes and football and Josh’s “right prick” of a coworker and family and friends and music and highs and lows and everything in between. And Harry, Louis thought, looked nothing short of comfortable. He was more relaxed than he had been at their get-together on New Year’s Eve, offering more to the conversation but listening just as much. He listened more than he spoke, but that’s just how he was, Louis had learned. He liked to sit back and observe, only give a remark or tell a story when it was necessary, and that was okay. 

They ordered a small sundae instead of a cake because Harry admitted he was more partial to ice cream than cake (though really, the sundae was the cheapest item on the dessert menu), and they only sang in hushed voices to not draw too much attention from anyone else. Their attention was already more than enough, Harry told them with darkened cheeks, and none of the boys really knew how to respond to that. Louis just gave Harry’s arm a gentle squeeze. 

The cinema wasn’t a long walk from the restaurant. They ended up seeing an animated film, of all things, because no one was up for trying to focus on following the intricate plot of a sci-fi thriller, the romantic comedies showing lacked “substantial character development” (according to Josh who had seen all three of them and shouted, “What! Don’t look at me like that, what else am I supposed to watch on a date?”), and a horror movie just didn’t feel like the best way to say  _happy birthday_. 

So they sat toward the back of the theatre that was surprisingly lacking much of an audience for a Friday night. But it was late and the film was meant for children, and none of the lads seemed to mind the lack of company. They bought too many snacks and shared a bucket of popcorn that was much larger than strictly necessary and they laughed like the children they perhaps still truly were. 

They left the cinema a couple hours later with cheeks sore from grinning and giggles still escaping with their breaths. 

“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m feeling a pint,” Niall said before they had even exited the theater entirely. Everyone, even Harry, groaned. “What? Seriously, none of you?”

“It’s been a long day, Ni,” Louis explained, though he really didn’t have the energy to put up with a drunk Niall, not tonight. 

“A good day,” Harry amended with a smile. “But long.” 

“You lot are no fun.” Niall frowned with a sigh but begrudgingly parted ways after a minute of coaxing, during which Harry said “thank you” just a few too many times. But it had the blonde grinning from ear to ear and undoubtedly feeling like the best friend a guy could have. He and Zayn said their goodbyes, as Josh followed Harry and Louis home for the night. 

“I can’t believe they’d actually offer to let me stay with them,” Josh remarked as he fell into step beside Louis, shuddering in fake disgust. “I mean really they should just move in with each other. I don’t know why they haven’t yet.” 

“Because that’s a big step,” Louis suggested, at which Josh only scoffed and began to mutter to himself about it not being that big of a step when they’re already spending so many nights together. 

Louis only laughed and turned his attention back to Harry, who was walking with his head bowed and his hands tucked deep into the pockets of his navy coat. “Good night?” he asked as they headed into the car park back near the restaurant. 

The younger boy glanced up, a bit startled, but smiled. “Yeah,” he replied as they reached Louis’ car. He paused at the passenger’s door. “More than good, really.” 

“Good,” Louis settled as the three of them piled into the car, Josh sliding into the back seat with only a little whining about  _I thought we had something special, Lou, now you go shoving me in the backseat, replacing me with Harry? I see how it is_. Neither of them missed the way Harry blushed at his words, as innocent and playful as they had been. 

But Louis only shrugged. “Harry’s nicer than you,” he said and made a face at Josh in the rearview mirror as he pulled out of the car park. 

Josh scoffed again and Harry shot Louis a curious look, cheeks flushing for the umpteenth time that day. Josh noticed it, though, and cocked a brow at Louis as their eyes met in the mirror. A knowing smile pulled at his lips. 

Louis pointedly looked away and set his eyes on the road. 

**

Louis had trouble sleeping that night. Not because of Niall’s words or Josh’s suggestive glances on the ride home, at least he was pretty certain that was not why he couldn’t get to sleep. He refused to let it be the reason. 

He was just having trouble getting to sleep because some nights, that’s just how things were. He wasn’t lost in a rush of scenarios or thinking too much. He simply couldn’t sleep, no matter which way he turned and however many times he flipped his pillow. Sleep wouldn’t come. 

So he shoved aside his blankets with a sigh and waited another minute before gathering up the energy to leave the comfort of his bed. His feet hit the ground out of sync, and he let minutes pass before he bothered rising to stand and then leave his room. He headed toward the kitchen after gathering his bearings and blinking his eyes into focus in the darkness, but as he made his way down the short hallway he found himself squinting into a wall of blinding light. 

He blinked a few more times for his eyes to adjust until he could make sense that the blinding light was nothing more than the lamp beside the couch. 

“Harry?” he asked – croaked, rather, his voice dry from lack of use. 

No response. And with a glance at the clock on the wall, he wasn’t surprised. It was already 3:37. 

Still grimacing in the harsh light, Louis made his way fully into the living room. Harry was slouched into a corner of the couch, his head rolling in a manner that Louis could only think of as uncomfortable against the armrest. His legs had dropped off the edge of the cushions and a book – _The Little Prince_ , Louis noted – had fallen against his chest, since forgotten from some late night reading. 

Louis couldn’t help a smile at the sight, but he nudged lightly at Harry’s shoulder, whispering him into consciousness. “Harry,” he tried, voice somehow almost lost amongst the silence. 

The boy only groaned, glaring mindlessly and turning in even more so on himself. 

Louis smiled with a shake of the head. He had dealt with his sisters falling asleep in odder places all the time. With them, he had never hesitated to rearrange them into a more comfortable position wherever they had passed out, especially the older they got. But here, now, with Harry, he was hesitating, his hands hovering over the younger boy and brow furrowing with uncertainty. 

 _But why_ , he wondered, trying to find a reason. He didn’t like any of the ones he found. He was being foolish, he reasoned. There was no reason to be so cautious, as though even a mere touch to the other boy would send off alarms and be considered too much. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. He was only going to make sure he was more comfortable before heading back to sleep himself. It was a friendly gesture, nothing more. He was being foolish. 

So it was with a sigh and another shake of the head (this time at himself) that he began to gently rearrange Harry on the couch. Folding down the corner of the current page, he moved the book to the table, leaving it out for Harry to resume the following day. He lifted his legs back up to rest along the cushions, took the shoes off his feet that were still tied in place and put them beside the couch. He lifted the boy’s head just long enough to stick a pillow behind it and pulled the duvet from the back of the couch, throwing it over the length of Harry’s body and tucking in the sides. 

And then, without thinking, he pressed a light kiss to Harry’s forehead. 

It was force of habit, as he had always kissed his sisters goodnight on the forehead in much the same way. But that didn’t stop his cheeks from burning as he turned off the light and hurried back to his room. 

If he had stayed only a moment longer, he would have seen green eyes flutter open in confusion at the touch before quickly falling shut not even seconds later, falling back into what must have been a dream. 

~*~


	11. Who's Counting: A Date and Mates

Days took on a newfound speed, and Harry hadn’t seemed to notice. He lost count of how many nights he spent curled up on the now familiar couch, tucked beneath the same duvet and other blankets that had joined the mess as the weather grew unbearably colder, in turn sending a bitter chill throughout the flat. He tried to keep count of the nights at first, just as a force of habit. It was a sort of defense mechanism, a way to keep his debt from ever growing too high. 

But as February wore on and that first Tuesday, the first of the month, fell even further behind them, he found he couldn’t remember how long he had stayed. 

What surprised him even more, he couldn’t find it in him to even care. 

He had glanced at the calendar that hung on the refrigerator one evening – the thirteenth of February, which he only knew because Niall had dragged him out in a panic to help him search for “the best gift ever, but nothing too cheesy” for Zayn for the romantic holiday the following day – and counted the days he had been back. He pointed at each day and counted them on his fingers with a sigh. But the sigh lacked any real vigor. There wasn’t any real exasperation behind it, or any nerves building up and begging him to get out before it was too late, before he got too entangled. Too attached. 

He had sighed, but it was not a sigh of contempt, for he wasn’t truly upset with himself for staying when he should have been going. He had sighed, but not for the thirteen days he had sought refuge in Louis and Zayn’s flat.  _Thirteen days, Christ_ , but he simply shook his head and continued making his grilled cheese. He had sighed, but not for taking too much when still unable to give a penny in return. He would make up for it, he would. He knew he would. 

He had sighed because he couldn’t seem to grasp how quickly time had passed. Hadn’t he just returned the day before? He had sighed because he couldn’t remember when he had grown so comfortable in this place, in this life, and in his own skin. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so… at peace, not only with his surroundings but also with himself. He had sighed, but it was a sigh of relief. 

Relief that his life had settled into something he wasn’t sure he’d ever again find. 

But here he was. This was, somehow, his life. 

Most days he helped around the flat. That’s how he “earned his stay,” as Zayn had put it sometime during his second week there. He picked up, did the wash, cleaned the dishes; menial housework in turn for a place to stay. It wasn’t all that bad a deal as far as he could see, and he was more than willing to help out. It was the least he could do. 

It was late morning on the twenty-fifth (not that he was counting. It wasn’t his fault Zayn kept a calendar on the fridge) when Harry was set at the kitchen table, watching Louis who stood at the stove. The older boy was humming along to a popular, catchy tune on the radio, stirring a pot of noodles for mac ‘n’ cheese, of all things, and Harry was… Well, Harry was watching. He was watching Louis cook, but more than anything, he was watching Louis. 

Perhaps he was still a bit tired, having only gotten up from the couch not even twenty minutes prior. But his eyes drifted over Louis’ form, following the outline of his body, the slight curve of his upper back and the languid movement as he occasionally picked up the wooden spoon to continue his stirring. He watched with a kind of interest he couldn’t quite name, not with a still sleepy conscious. Maybe if his conscious were more awake and aware, he would have stopped his gaze from lingering, his eyes from observing, and certainly his mouth from wondering, “What happened with you and Eleanor?” 

The way Louis’ posture stiffened and the sound of his own voice sobered Harry up in the matter of a second and he swallowed thickly. A dark blush already clung to his cheeks as Louis turned to look at him over his shoulder. 

“Sorry,” Harry squeaked out quickly, eyes downcast and fingers wrapping around the mug of coffee Louis had made him. “I, I shouldn’t have… it’s not my—I’m sorry, I think I’m still, erm, half asleep.” 

He spared a sheepish glance back toward Louis and was relieved to see the older boy staring at him with a humored smirk. “Haz,” was all he said, but he said it in this voice that he used whenever Harry began rambling and apologizing—when such was really not necessary. 

Though relieved, Harry ducked his head again, this time guilty for different reasons, and sucked in his lower lip beneath his teeth. Maybe now he wouldn’t say anything stupid. Maybe this was the only way to keep from sputtering out nonsense and cleaning it up with silly apologies. Maybe it would just be better if he—

“We just grew apart.” 

The younger boy glanced up at the unexpected words and found Louis shaking the excess water from the spoon, setting it aside, and taking the pot to the sink. He continued while straining the pasta, “I mean, that’s all there really is to tell, innit? It’s not like we had a massive breakup, complete with a screaming match and all. Neither of us cheated, we don’t hate each other, we just… Fell out of love, I suppose. Is that a thing?” He glanced over his shoulder shortly, as though for confirmation. “Do people fall out of love?” 

“I… I don’t know,” Harry admitted quietly with a shrug. He didn’t know how to answer. 

“Hmm,” Louis hummed indifferently. “Because, you know, I did love her. I thought I was  _in_  love with her, even. At some point.”

He paused, but it was clear in the air he wasn’t finished. His words stuck, his breath held, and Harry urged on softly, “But?” 

Louis glanced back at Harry with a sad sort of smile and shook his head. “But I thought I was in love with people before her, too. So maybe I was wrong, again.” 

“Maybe,” Harry echoed softly, unsure of what else to say as the older boy seemed lost to his thoughts in the following moments, blue staring off into the distance. He waited and watched, watched as Louis worked through his thoughts, watched as the older boy, the kind stranger, stumbled through the little waves of emotion that wandered across his face, watched as his features twitched, watched as the boy suddenly shook from himself and came crashing back into the present.

He watched as Louis spared him a half smile, and he spared him one in return. But their smiles were broken. They were the kind of smiles Harry was used to, the kind that weren’t fully there, the ones that were meant to say,  _Yeah, I’m fine_ , when nothing ever really was. He recognized that kind of smile, understood the silent words behind it even if he didn’t know the story as to why. But he got it, and Louis got it, and so they smiled at each other. But their smiles were broken and not fully there, and there was more to be said but not enough time for feelings to turn into words and words to turn into stories. 

So their words never made it to meet the air, not that day. But they both shared similar broken smiles and when Harry asked, “But you two are… Things are okay, I mean? You’re alright?” 

Blue found green and held and, “Yeah, yeah. Things are good. We’ll be alright.” 

And the way he said it, Harry couldn’t help but think that Louis didn’t quite mean  _Eleanor and I_  as much as he meant  _you and I, we’ll both be alright. We’ll get there._

**

The days were still fairly empty and free for Harry, even as he settled into his life with Zayn and Louis. The little chores he had to complete at the flat weren’t nearly enough to keep him busy, so he went out as often as he could, whenever the weather permitted and usually whenever both boys were off at class or work. As grateful as he was, staying cooped up inside the flat wasn’t exactly how an eighteen year old wanted to spend his days. 

So he found other things to do. Sometimes he went and picked up the groceries or ran errands. He still frequented the library like he had before returning to the flat. There was a second-hand shop that sold books and music that he could get lost in for hours on end. Sometimes he just went for walks. 

That afternoon, though, found Harry curled over a book at the public library not far from the flat. It was one of his regular spots, one of the places he disappeared to during the day, just to get out. Just to disappear, if only for a little while. It was a nice escape, even though he had little to complain about at the moment. 

Set at one of the table and chairs that lined a wall of windows on the main floor, Harry allowed himself the joy of getting lost that afternoon. Reality slipped away as he dove into the pages of a newer book he had plucked off of one of the end caps. The words printed in black climbed from the page to create a world of such bright, vibrant realism, distracting Harry so much from his surroundings that he nearly jumped out of his chair when a coffee was set down on the tabletop in front him. His fictional haven was shattered with a steadying blink. 

He jerked at first, his knee bonking into the table leg, and then shook his curls out of his eyes as he looked up at the bearer of his disturbance. 

A boy was standing there, just beside him. He was wearing a dark green apron, clearly a worker at the Starbucks in the corner of the library. Brown, wavy hair was swept to one side, feathered across his forehead with just a pinch of his fringe dangling in front of his dark eyes. A smile peeled back his lips. He had this smile that emphasized the rosy apples of his cheeks, and he was grinning—right at Harry. 

“Looked like you could use a bit of a pick me up,” the boy greeted, rolling onto the balls of his feet. 

Harry blinked. “Oh,” he managed after a moment. His eyes shifted from the boy and back to the coffee and then back again, this time falling upon the boy beneath a furrowed brow. “I… I’m sorry,” he started and shook his head, trying to make sense of the situation but failing, “I don’t have any money on me right now, I can’t—”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” the boy cut him off with a raise of the hand, palm open. Harry cocked a brow, and his grin somehow grew. “It’s… on the house, let’s say.” 

Harry looked skeptical. 

“Okay, it’s on me.” 

Harry fish mouthed, already picking up the coffee and handing it back toward the boy. “Oh, that’s nice of you, but I—”

“Can accept a coffee from a nice guy who thinks you’re pretty cute and can’t imagine for the life of him why you keep coming here for hours and hours on end, a few times a week, every time alone.” 

If Harry had been at a loss for words before, he was now rendered catatonic. That cut Harry off. Fast. His cheeks burned a shade so pink and warm he was certain it might stick, but the boy only continued to smile. 

“M’ name’s George. Mind if I sit?” 

Harry couldn’t even find it in him to shake his head. Or nod it. He wasn’t sure which motion he wanted. 

George took a seat anyway, still apple-cheeked and smiles. “So… this is usually the part where you’d say your name in return, but I suppose we could skip that if you want?” 

Teasing. He was teasing. And he was grinning. And Harry’s tongue felt far too large for his mouth, and it was dry as he forced a swallow. Yet somehow he managed a breathy sort of chuckle and, “Harry. My name’s Harry.” 

“Harry,” George echoed, his grin never faltering. “I like it. It fits. You make a good Harry, so far as I can tell. I could be totally wrong, though. Maybe I’ll be able to tell for sure over dinner tonight. I was thinking Italian. Pizza, even. What do you say?” 

“I, I— _what?_ ”

George laughed, unabashedly, skin wrinkling endearingly around his eyes. “Sorry,” he grimaced, biting his lower lip in what Harry thought might have been slight embarrassment. “I spent the last twenty minutes just trying to come up with something witty. Guess it failed. Should’ve expected as much. But to summarize, Harry, I was thinking you and I should go to dinner together tonight.” 

“I’m… sorry?” 

“Dinner.” He shrugged, his grin returning. “You, me, tonight. I’m afraid I don’t really know how to put it much simpler than that.” 

“But… No, I mean, yes, I understand, but—”

“You really going to ask me  _why_  I’m asking you out?” 

Harry flushed, glancing away as he ducked his head. 

George chuckled, but not unkindly so. “Do I really need a reason?” he wondered, making the idea sound a bit incredulous. Harry only bit his lip, but apparently that was enough of an answer for the boy to continue. He sighed, a bit at a loss, and then broke, “Look, I just… I’ve seen you come in here, like all the time, and you always come and you sit over here with a new book every few days. And you just sit here and read and it’s… I don’t know, I just… I’d really like to take you out, if you’d let me. What d’you say?”

When Harry chanced a glance back upward, he was met with a sincerity so bare he had no choice but to look away again. He mulled around his mind for a moment, searching for a proper response. As nice as this boy was, there was a part of Harry that always jumped ship before even setting sail. And there it was now, making him part his lips to begin, “Well, I-I, that’s really nice of you to offer and all, but I-I…” And he was stuck stumbling through his words as George continued to stare at him with amusement and something akin to – what was that even, interest? – glowing in his eyes. 

That is until George stilled his stuttering mess with, “And you can’t say no if money or something is your only reason not to. I’ll pay. I want to.” 

Harry raised his eyes to meet the other boy’s across the table, and the apologetic words that had been stacking up on the tip of his tongue stopped. George’s smile that had been aloof with humor only seconds before had relaxed into something easy, something simple, something… Something compassionate. The amusement had drained from his eyes, brown now gazing at him in a kind manner, drowning in something like hopefulness. He looked like he knew more than he was letting on, as though somehow he understood, as though somehow he had caught on to Harry’s situation without the curly-haired boy ever taking notice. 

It was unnerving in a way, but it was exciting in another. And before Harry could think to pick back up the words he had been working so dutifully on crafting into a firm, but friendly, rejection, he found himself responding, “Pizza sounds perfect.” 

And if he thought for even a moment that George might’ve been cuter if his eyes were blue, well, he certainly chose to ignore it. 

**

Pizza’s nothing fancy, Harry reasoned as he made his way back to the flat. 

Pizza was just pizza. It was quick, simple. It was easy. It was… casual. Grabbing pizza with someone didn’t drag along with it a list of rules and expectations. There were no high stakes, no call for nice dress and proper behavior. Pizza was pizza. It was what it was. 

But Harry also knew he was fooling himself. Oh, he was so aware of it. Pizza might have been just pizza, but this was  _dinner_. George had asked him  _out_. And Harry didn’t know whether to be excited or nervous or scared out of his wits or guilty or confused or panicky. But he was one thing, for sure. He was dazed, and that’s how he was, walking in a bit of a stupor, when he arrived back at the flat later that afternoon. 

His mind was still swimming as he entered the place he sometimes slipped and thought of as home, and as he stripped off his coat (yes,  _his_  coat) and toed out of his shoes (the new ones, the ones that Louis had slipped him as a surprise birthday present the morning after he had come back) he was so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t even noticed that Zayn was watching him until the older boy laughed loud enough and broke through with a question. “Y’alright there, mate?” 

“Huh? Oh, oh, me, erm, yeah, I,” Harry broke off with a shake of the head as he turned around, still standing by the front door, uncertain of how to hold himself, how to carry himself, what exactly to do. Maybe he was nervous more than anything else. “I,” he started and explained a bit bewilderedly, “I think I’ve a date. For tonight?” 

“A date?” 

Harry’s eyes jumped to find Louis as the older boy stilled for just a short moment on his way into the living room, coming from his room. Louis’ features underwent the smallest of changes—a slight twitching, if anything—but Harry couldn’t help but feel it was his fault, that slight change. He forced his gaze away, but not until after Louis had regained his composure with a hard blink and a smile that was just a bit too bright, even for him. 

“A date, eh?” Louis wondered after Zayn, grinning mischievously. “So who’s the lucky gal?” 

The curly-haired boy blushed, straight up to his ears. “Erm,” he stammered, blinking his eyes away. “It’s not… I… His name’s George?” He ended in a question and was too busy wringing together his fingers and staring at his feet to notice the glance that Louis and Zayn exchanged at the name. 

He was still looking down, as though not wanting to witness his friends’ reactions to the new information, when Zayn broke the silence that had settled around them. “George?” was all he wondered, but he didn’t sound condescending or disgusted or… or really any of the things Harry had frightened he might of sounded. 

Worrying his lower lip, Harry finally spared a glance upward beneath the fringe of his curls. “Yeah,” he answered quietly, his voice barely there. “Is that… is this, erm, y’know, okay?” 

He swallowed—hard—as he finally set his eyes fully upon the other two men, but Louis was smirking and Zayn was laughing. He was  _laughing_. Not chuckling, but letting out boisterous, humored bouts of chortling, and when it dawned on Harry as to why the older boys were so amused, he had never felt so foolish. 

“Mate, are you honestly asking if we care that you like guys?” Zayn managed after most of his laughter had subsided. “Did you forget I’m kind of in love with a dude?” 

Harry’s cheeks darkened even more. “Oh. Right.”

“You silly twat, c’mere,” Zayn chuckled and pulled Harry into a hug, a tight hug. A reassuring hug. Harry wasn’t sure if Zayn knew the amount of reassurance that hug gave—or that it was even needed—but he hugged him back and didn’t dare let go until he absolutely had to. “Besides,” the older boy continued, his words muffled into Harry’s shoulder, “if something like that mattered to us, that means we’d both be total pricks. But we’re not. Seriously, proud for ya, mate.” 

He squeezed again, and it was only then Harry realized that Louis had joined the embrace, making it more of a small huddle than anything else. 

“Yeah,” Louis echoed as blue found green in the midst of their little group hug. “Proud of you, mate.” 

And there twinkled something in his eyes, but his smile wasn’t quite as bright as it usually was. His eyes were still kind and his smile still sweet, but it lacked its usual vibrancy. But Harry didn’t have the time to dwell on it, not before, 

“So, Harry, tell me about this George bloke. Where are you even picking up guys on a Friday afternoon?” 

**

“Order’s in. Should be out soon,” George commented as he slid into the booth opposite Harry, a grin still intact upon his lips—as it had been since he met Harry just outside of the restaurant. It was a kind smile, one that accentuated the boy’s apple cheeks and somehow made his dark eyes twinkle in such a way that… that Harry forced his own eyes away and swallowed thickly, suddenly instead engrossed with tracing the checkered pattern of the vinyl tablecloth. 

Laughter met his ears, and he felt the tips of his ears burning in response but he didn’t dare to look up. 

“You always this quiet, Harry?” George wondered and only waited a second before asking in a softer tone, “Or are you just, y’know, nervous or summat?” 

“Something like nervous,” Harry responded after clearing his throat and shifting his posture just slightly, in attempt to get more comfortable and perhaps, maybe if luck were on his side that evening, less nervous and anxious. But luck was not his companion that evening, and the curly-haired boy’s nerves continued to run on high and make his palms all sweaty, his thoughts a jumbled mess of uncertainty, and his conscience lined with guilt and haunted by flashes of blue. 

He shook the latest shade of cerulean away from the forefront of his mind and let his eyes meet George’s, set on a shade of russet that didn’t excite him in the way that he kind of thought it should. Ignoring the contemplation, he let his lips slide into as big of a smile as he could manage at the moment and shoved (or, at the very least, he tried to shove) his reservations away, leaving them for later. 

Because right now George was grinning at him again and reaching across the table to cover Harry’s hand with his own. “No reason to be nervous, babe,” he assured Harry with a quick wink. “It’s just dinner.” 

“Just dinner?” Harry repeated, the corner of his mouth twitching upward just a smidgen. 

George’s eyes fell bashfully as a rosy shade of pink consumed the apples of his cheeks. “Okay,” he admitted with a guilty sort of chuckle, “so maybe it’s not  _just_  dinner, at least not in the sense of oh-hey-I’ll-buy-you-a-meal-because-I-think-we-should-be-best-mates-for-life. Unless, I mean, unless that’s the only reason you’re here? Oh, shit, I hope not. It wouldn’t be the first time a bloke’s misunderstood.” 

“Misunderstood?”

“My… intentions, I mean. Oh hell, it’s always so humiliating, too. Like now, it seems. Oh god, Harry, I thought I made it clear earlier when I asked if—”

“I didn’t misunderstand,” Harry cut him short. 

“No?” George looked so on the edge of relief that Harry couldn’t hold back a little laugh as he shook his head in confirmation. George released a heavy sigh and slumped back against the cushions of the booth. “Oh thank bloody god.” 

Harry bit back the rest of his laughter and relaxed for the first time that evening, the smile that eased across his lips genuine and not at all forced. “Do I get to hear about these prior misunderstandings by chance?” 

“Am I willing to relive my past humiliation for the sake of good dinner conversation, you mean?” George shot Harry a smile even brighter than before, replied a tad too excitedly, “And the answer to that, love, is a big, fat yes. So there was this bloke in my class in year six, right, Nathan was his name,” and wasted not even a second before diving right in. 

They had only made it through recount of the first humiliating misunderstanding and partway through the second when their meals arrived. The conversation continued as they ate, only slowed by the addition of food, and Harry listened with curiosity and laughed at all the right moments and was genuinely interested in what George had to share, but even he knew the current conversation couldn’t last the entire time. Like any conversation, there came a point where the dominant speaker remembered the other person’s presence, and for Harry that point came when his dish was almost empty. 

“So with my humiliating dating past behind us, it’s your turn, Harry,” George turned the tables quickly, that mischievous twinkle still glinting in the dark of his eyes. His smile widened a bit and his attention drifted away from his plate and across the table to settle on Harry, much to the curly-haired boy’s dismay. 

Harry set his gaze on the remaining strands of pasta that he was twirling around his dish as distraction. “My turn?” he echoed. “Haven’t really dated before, so.” 

“Well fine then, but you’ve got to have some sort of stories to share, don’tchya?” George urged, even nudging his foot beneath the table in attempt to win back Harry’s attention, but to no avail. Harry’s eyes stayed situated on his food, as he shrugged, not unlike a moody, apathetic teenager. 

“Aw, c’mon, Harry,” he almost very nearly whined, “I’m not even asking for embarrassing tales, just something. I mean we’ve all got some good stories from school, don’t we? Or something that happened back home, like I don’t know, do you have any siblings? I don’t even know, so start there, maybe? Doesn’t really matter, I’m just, y’know, curious about you and your life, Harry. I want to get to know you is all.” 

It wasn’t all that odd of a request. Harry knew this, especially on a date, especially with someone you want to get to know. But the question made Harry’s shoulders tense, and he glanced up at George from beneath the fringe of his curls and averted his gaze almost immediately. It wasn’t all that odd of a request, but it wasn’t a question Harry was jumping to answer in any regard. 

“Oh?” George didn’t seem deterred by Harry’s sudden behavior, or maybe he simply didn’t notice the tense shoulders and jumpy eyes and bitten lip and shaking leg. If he did, he sure didn’t show it, not as he leaned in a little closer and smiled devilishly. “Trying to be mysterious, are we?” 

“No,” Harry replied quickly and maybe a bit too snippily. “I’m really not. I just…” He trailed off and brought his eyes back to meet George’s with a heavy, almost forlorn sigh. “I don’t really want to talk about it. Me. My… home, I mean. If that’s… I mean, if that’s okay?” 

George’s features fell slightly, but not in disappointment. His smile softened and the twinkle in his eyes was replaced by that look of compassion that had filled his features earlier that day, that look that made it seem as though he knew more about Harry than he was really letting on. He reached across the table for Harry’s hand again, fingers overlapping the top of his hand and squeezing once. “That’s more than okay,” he reassured Harry quietly, a gentle smile spreading his lips. “Maybe some other time, though?”

Harry broke the connection between their eyes before responding with a nod and a smile that lacked any sort of promise. “Yeah,” he said, “maybe some other time.” 

“No rush, of course,” George added, but it was clear in his lopsided smile that he understood that _yeah, maybe some other time_  actually meant  _probably, most definitely not._

“Right, right.” Harry nodded. “No rush.” 

“So,” George straightened up with a deep breath and a smile that tried to refresh the entire evening, “any room left for a taste of dessert?” 

**

The date didn’t last much longer after that. And despite just wanting the night to be over, Harry couldn’t help feeling a little crappy for putting such a damper on their conversation, as though he had ruined it—everything—without even meaning to. So when George asked if he could walk Harry home, the curly-haired boy didn’t have the heart to tell him no. 

Nor did he feel the need to tell George it wasn’t; it’s not his home, not really. 

But George didn’t need to know that, not even as Harry got to the front door of the flat and realized that he was actually rather out of luck if the door were locked. The sounds of a television with the volume too high was clear through the door though, and Harry felt his shoulders sink in relief as George eyed the door to flat C with a bemused kind of smile. 

“You don’t live alone then, I take?” he asked, stopping short. “Or a not very discreet burglar has entered your flat and stayed, a bit Goldilocks style. I suppose that’s possible.” 

Harry chuckled at the idea but shook his head, chewing on his lower lip. “No, no Goldilocks burglar, I think,” he said. “I, I, actually, erm, live with a couple mates.” 

“Oh? That’s cool.” George smiled, unfazed by the new information. 

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, and the smile that slid across his lips was so bright that he had to bite his lip just to keep it at bay.  _A couple mates_. He lived with a couple mates. Such a basic, bland statement to any bystander, but it made Harry’s heart seem to soar and the idea of standing outside of the flat, the place where he actually lived— _with a couple mates_ —any longer felt absolutely absurd. “So, erm, I had a good time tonight,” he started then, maybe a bit too suddenly, but George only smiled even more. 

“You did?” he wondered, sounding uncertain for one of the very few times that evening. “I mean I was hoping you would, but with the way dinner ended I wasn’t sure if I had, like, totally screwed up—” 

“You didn’t,” the curly-haired boy cut him off, already knowing where his words were going to lead. He smiled, hoping it was reassuring, and added for effect, “I really did have a great time with you, George.” 

Brown found green, accompanied by a sheepish smile, and the apples of George’s cheeks fell under a curtain of warm pink. “Well, good,” George settled, appearing to relax. “I’m glad.” 

Eyes met again and seconds seemed to slow and if Harry wasn’t imagining things he could have sworn George was leaning in, but whether or not he really was wasn’t clear, not as the main door to the complex opened just at the bottom of the stairs and Niall came barreling into the building. The blond was smiling as he entered, unaware of their presence entirely until he was already partway up the stairs. “Oh, Harry!” he began, “hi, fantastic timing, I wanted to ask you— _oh_.” 

His steps slowed as he came to the top of the staircase, coming to a stop as he not so subtly eyed up the boy beside Harry. His smile faded as he glanced between the two of them. “Um, pardon?” he furrowed his brows as he squeezed past them to the door of the flat, unlocked. Niall didn’t close it very quickly, shooting a glance toward Zayn and Louis on the couch and back toward Harry and George with a not so quiet, “ _The fuck was that?!_ ” as he nearly slammed the door behind him. 

Harry flushed, and his stomach sank as he realized George wasn’t standing so close anymore. But he was smiling slightly, a bit sheepishly even. “Please tell me he’s not your boyfriend or something perfectly horrid like that,” he said, teeth gleaming and cheeks bunched up into a grin. 

The curly-haired boy laughed, but it was dry. “No, no, he’s not.” 

“Well whoever he is, he didn’t seem to like my presence much, so I don’t think I’ll be inviting myself in for a cuppa. Well. I wouldn’t do that anyway, but… I don’t know. Maybe another time?” 

He looked hopeful and his smile was so bright that Harry felt awful when he only half-heartedly agreed. “Yeah, yeah, maybe another time, mate,” he said, told him goodnight, and watched as George descended the staircase and left the complex, before going into flat C with no intentions of another time—especially not as he entered the flat and immediately found a pair of blue eyes staring straight at him. 

“Hey,” Harry greeted and was met with a chorus of similar sentiments as he shed his coat and slipped out of his shoes. 

“So how was your  _date_?” Louis asked, and Harry didn’t quite like the way it came out. But he answered normally, “Erm, fine, I guess? I… I don’t know. He—George—he’s nice, though.” 

“I don’t like him,” Niall intervened, stating his opinion sourly and glaring in a way that wasn’t unlike a young pouting child. 

Zayn chuckled beside him. “Niall, you didn’t even know he existed three minutes ago.” 

“That’s long enough. I don’t like him. People named George are just odd and untrustworthy, and what kind of gentleman kisses on the first date?” 

“We didn’t kiss—”

“But he was leaning in to, I saw it, and on the first date!” 

“I kissed you on our first date,” Zayn reminded him. 

“That was different.” 

“How do you reason that?” 

“We knew each other already—and your name isn’t George. And he looks sketchy.” 

“Niall, babe,” Zayn shook his head. “You’re just fishing for reasons now.” 

“I am not!” Niall protested from his perch on the armrest. “Harry, what do you even know about this George fellow anyhow? Did you meet his parents? Where’s he even live? Is he a student? Does he have a steady income? ‘Cause that can—”

“Niall.” 

“What?”

“Can we just… watch a movie or something?” 

“But you should—”

“I said he was nice,” Harry amended as he plopped down into the empty spot on the couch between Louis and Zayn, “but I never said I really liked him.” 

“Oh.” The blond bit his lip, his cheeks darkening just a tad. “Do you like him?”

Harry merely shrugged and relaxed against the cushions a bit more, stretching as he got comfortable for a night in with his mates, settling back into the flat, back into his life. And if he let his leg rest against Louis’ a little more than strictly necessary, he certainly didn’t move to fix it. 

Neither did Louis. 

“He’s nice,” Harry finally replied. “But I never was one for brown eyes. No offense, Zayn.” 

“None taken,” Zayn assured him. 

And if Louis breathed out something that sounded like a sigh of relief, well, Harry surely pretended not to notice. 

~*~


	12. Who's Counting: More Than a Couch

“I think we’re keeping him.” 

That was how Niall greeted Louis on a Friday night in mid-March when he finally joined the blond and Zayn at the pub. 

Louis quirked a brow, pausing with removing his coat. “Who’re we keeping?” 

“The one with the curls,” Niall replied and pointed to a small cluster of people at the far end of the bar. They were crowded around the old-time jukebox that was actually the highlight of the establishment, and it took only a glance for Louis to find the head of curls to which Niall was referring. A closer look and he noticed the boy was beside Josh and a couple of his other friends—Dan and Sandy, he thought their names were—and blending in nicely. They were all smiles and bellowing laughter and arms slung around shoulders, and they looked happy. 

More importantly, Harry looked happy. 

Louis smiled at the sight and, before it could be labeled staring, pulled his eyes away from the group. “I didn’t know we were contemplating ever returning him,” he said to Niall as he slid onto one of the stools. He pretended not to notice the look Niall and Zayn shared across the bar. 

“Return him? Would never dream of it!” Niall declared and placed a beer in front of Louis, already opened. “And I hope you don’t ‘cause the little bugger’s growing on me and shit. Now drink up. I’m off. Duty calls.” 

They both nodded Niall a short goodbye as he returned to his shift, and Louis turned his attention toward Zayn as soon as he left. “Where did that come from?” he asked without wasting so much as a second. 

Zayn lifted a brow, not bothering to look up from his drink. “What?” 

“About  _keeping_  Harry?” It wasn’t normal conversation, anyway, discussing whether or not to “keep” a person. 

“Oh,” Zayn said and perhaps his cheeks darkened a bit in shame, but Louis didn’t call him out on it. “Well, we were talking about, like, living arrangements and stuff, and whether or not he’ll be sleeping on the couch forever and, well, that’s when you got here.” 

Louis nodded at the information and took a long sip of his beer before putting together a response. “I see,” was all he managed. 

Neither said anything more in the minutes that followed. The topic stuck in the air, though, hanging there, thick and heavy and weighing down on them more and more painfully the longer they put off discussing it. The longer it went unacknowledged, the harder the situation would become to sort. Both boys knew this, but neither ever wanted to discuss it—the responsibility they continued to tiptoe around, uncertain of accepting it but unable to deny it. Neither wanted to acknowledge that they held a boy’s future in their hands. 

But with a clearing of his throat, Zayn stepped up to bat. “We should get him a bed,” he said. 

And it wasn’t at all what Louis was expecting. 

“A… a bed?” he echoed, his brows raised. 

“Or something of the sort. Maybe a more suitable futon or summat,” Zayn amended with a shrug. 

Louis just shook his head. “Wait, wait, wait, I’m sorry, what? A bed?”

His eyes still set on his glass, Zayn nodded. “Well we can’t have him sleeping on the couch forever. It’s a hassle to make him clean up the blankets and pillows every morning just to lay them all back out every night. Besides,” he paused and finally met Louis’ eyes, a slight smirk curving his lips, “that’s gotta be painful as hell to sleep on, mate. We both know it’s not the most comfortable couch in the world.” 

“Far from it,” Louis agreed with a chuckle, Zayn joining in beside him. He’d have been lying if he said he wasn’t stunned just then. What Zayn was implying…

“We’re doing this?” he asked, turning to face his friend. “We’re… Letting him stay?”

Zayn sputtered out a laugh. “Letting him stay?” He clapped a hand on Louis’ shoulder and leaned in close, as though sharing a secret. “Lou, mate,” he laughed, dropping his voice a bit as he stared across the bar again. Louis followed his gaze straight to a head of unmistakable brown curls. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, but he’s already here.” 

And Zayn was right. 

He was, without a doubt, completely and absolutely right, Louis realized as he watched Josh pull Harry into a snug embrace followed by a playful noogie. Harry shoved him off, but he was grinning the brightest Louis had ever seen him grinning, and Josh wasn’t very different. 

Harry was here as much as Louis was—as much as any of them were. 

Harry was already here to stay. 

He’d woven his way into their lives, day by day, little by little, slowly but surely. He’d been given a coat and that was meant to be all, but here he was, laughing and joking around as though he’d been here all along. 

“Don’t think we could kick him out even if we tried,” Zayn added on, and Louis was startled to find his friend staring at the same sight. 

“We could,” Louis countered. “Out of the flat, I mean, but I don’t think he’d be gone for long.” 

Zayn snickered at that, shaking his head. “Probably not. Niall would probably take him in like a lost little puppy.” 

“Probably,” Louis agreed, smiling at the idea. Niall had certainly taken to the curly-haired lad rather quickly; they all had. 

But one thought lingered in the back of Louis’ mind, the same thought that had been worrying him since Harry had showed up again nearly a month and a half before. And before he could let the thought simmer any longer, he heard it slipping from his tongue with ease: “D’you think he’ll stay?” 

Zayn hummed at first, sitting back up to finish the last swig of his drink, and allowed his eyes to shift several times between Louis and Harry before settling upon the former with a sly sort of smile. “Something tells me he won’t be running off anytime soon, Lou,” he said with a nod as though to secure his words, to tie them in place and make them real. 

Louis contracted his brow at that. “What d’ya mean?” 

“Just an inkling I’ve got,” Zayn told him, chuckling a bit to himself. “Don’t worry about it.” 

And maybe Lou’s drink was getting to him faster than usual because he agreed and let it slide. “Alright,” he settled and allowed their conversation to lull into a comfortable silence for a few minutes. The pub was loud enough that neither was really bothered by the lack of words; there was enough to overhear, enough to observe, enough music (at last Josh and co. had chosen something at the jukebox) to mask their silence. 

But minutes later, empty bottle sliding between his hands, Louis looked to Zayn with a finishing question. “So,” he started and only continued once his eyes met Zayn’s, “three of us?” 

“Three of us.”

“And you’re okay with this?” 

Zayn grinned, head hanging slightly with a silent chuckle. “Mate, there’s already been three of us for a month now. Why not make it official?” 

Louis took a deep breath and sighed, blue eyes catching onto brown curls yet again. “S’pose you’re right.” 

“I am.” 

He grinned at his friend’s cockiness but then, for the first time that night, Louis frowned at a troubling thought. “Where the hell are we going to put another bed?” 

“Thought you two could stack your beds, y’know, go a bit old school with the bunks and all,” Zayn suggested, though not without the accompaniment of a hearty laugh. 

With a fitting glare, Louis flipped him the bird. 

**

Moving from two housemates to three was a task much easier in thought than carried out in actuality. 

Because the flat, Louis realized as he was home alone one afternoon (Zayn had class and Josh had called Harry out for a bit), was really not all that large. 

“Well, sweetie, maybe that’s something you and Zayn should sit down and really consider before making a decision about this,” Jay was suggesting over the phone as Louis stood in the center of the hallway, turning in slow circles to survey the apartment’s space. 

Or, rather, lack thereof. 

He huffed out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “Mum,” he spoke through clenched teeth, “I told you. The decision’s already been made.” 

“Fine, fine, fine, right, you’re right, I’m sorry, you did say that already, didn’t you? Are you sure, though? Both of you?” 

“That we don’t want to kick our friend out to live on the streets?” he nearly sneered. “Yeah, Mum, we’re both pretty sure about that.” 

“Not appreciating the sass, Louis. Don’t think I won’t hang up this phone on you.” 

“Sorry,” Louis sighed and bit his tongue to keep from saying any more. He didn’t mean to be unappreciative; he had called her, anyway. It was just. He was hitting dead ends every way he turned, mentally and literally—walls everywhere but no space to shove a bed against any of them. And a bed was the least they could give Harry, since a room was obviously out of the question. Three days after deciding that they were going to invite Harry to stay and Louis couldn’t even map out a way to comfortably fit three beds into their flat without drastically changing everything and just. _Fuck._

Wiping a hand over his face, Louis slid down the nearest wall and let his legs span the width of the hallway, his shoulders slumping beneath the stress of it all. “I’m sorry,” he told his mom again, this time with a voice much softer than before, “I just—” 

“Don’t know how to take a place meant for two and fix it up for three,” his mother, Jay, supplied. “I know, honey, I know.” 

But that didn’t make extra space magically appear.

“Maybe Zayn was right,” Louis lamented, his eyes set on his bedroom across from him, the door still ajar. 

Jay hummed, curious. “What’s that?” 

“Maybe bunk beds are the only solution.” 

The silence between them lasted only five short seconds before both mother and son burst into bouts of laughter over the phone. Louis’ shoulders shook against the wall and if his frustration left him through tears, he surely attributed it to his laughter and nothing else. 

“Aw, baby,” Jay finished with a breathy chuckle, “bunk beds are not the solution, I promise you that, alright?” 

“Then what is?”

His mother sighed this time, and she was silent for a minute before admitting, “I don’t know at the moment, Lou, but you’ll figure it out soon enough. I know you will.” 

“Yeah, but I just… I really don’t want him on the streets, you know? He’s eighteen, Mum, he shouldn’t be out there.” His voice sank a bit, thinning to a whisper that cracked on some of his words, but he continued anyway, finally letting go of the words that had been tugging down his thoughts for weeks, “I, I still don’t even know why he was out there in the first place, or what happened, but I don’t… 

“I don’t want him to be on the couch forever, never sure if this is just a night-to-night arrangement. I don’t want him to worry that he might be on the streets again tomorrow. I don’t want him to have to worry about that. I want him to know it’s more permanent than that, that it can be, I mean, that he can stay however long he needs to—however long he wants. I want him to know that it can be more than a couch, y’know? He deserves more than a couch, Mum, he really does.” 

His words hung in the air after he finished, hanging there after weeks of being locked away in his chest with nowhere else to go. After weeks and weeks of build up, he finally let them out, and he only spoke again when his mother failed to say a thing in reply. 

But there was a sharp intake of air on the other end of the line that made Louis worry what his mother would have to say, and he scrambled to explain things before she could question him. “Mum, Mum, I know it’s a bit weird, but I—” 

“You’ve got a whole hell of a lot of heart, kiddo,” she interrupted him, and the way she said it Louis knew she was smiling. “Where’d you pick that up? I know for sure it wasn’t from me.” 

Louis smiled to himself. “Zayn musta rubbed off on me,” he said. 

“Oh is that it?” Jay laughed. “Always knew that boy would be a bad influence on you.” 

“You should meet Harry then,” Louis told her. “He’s even worse.” 

“Is he?”

“‘Fraid so.”

“Then I’ve no choice in the matter, do I?” 

Louis bit back a grin. His mother wanting to meet Harry… Seemed a little odd, was all. Just a couple months before she had chastised him for letting in the boy he knew so little about. And now, this time, Louis hadn’t even told her he’d returned until the younger boy had already been back for a month. He’d wanted to be sure that Harry would be there for more than a few days, was his reasoning. 

But a part of him, a rather large part of him, had wanted to keep Harry to himself. There was a part of him that hadn’t wanted to inform his mother that Harry had come back, that didn’t want her to know that this curly-haired boy had meandered his way back into Louis’ life. There was a part of him that wanted to keep Harry somewhat secret, if only for a little while, afraid that if he went and told the world the boy might run off again. 

He had stayed, though. It had been a month and a half in full, and Harry was still around, day after day. And now Louis’ mum wanted to meet him.  _My mum wants to meet Harry._ It made Louis something like restless, and if he really stopped to think about it he might have been scared to realize he was actually nervous. 

“Well if I ever figure out a way to fit another bed in here,” he started and tried not to smile too brightly—afraid that maybe his mother might somehow sense it, even through the phone, “you’ll know where to find him.” 

“You’ll sort something out,” Jay promised him. “Trust me. But until then, you could just call me in and drag the poor boy on screen the next time you’re Skyping with one of your sisters?” 

That would be much sooner than a proper, in person introduction. Skyping was much more immediate. Louis tried to Skype with his sisters every other week, at least, and he was due for a Skype date the following week. 

Louis swallowed thickly. “Or that,” he agreed. 

“Lovely!” Jay said, and Louis could practically feel her pleased grin through her tone. “I look forward to it. Now I’ve to run, your sisters will be getting out of school soon, so I’ll talk to you and Harry soon, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Louis said, a bit lost in his thoughts as he wished his mother goodbye and let the call end on its own. “We’ll talk to you soon.” 

**

Harry got locked out. 

It was an accident, of course, but it also wasn’t the first time it had happened. 

It was a Thursday afternoon, one of those treacherously boring days of the weeks, but it was also a surprisingly busy day for both Louis and Zayn. 

Zayn had just landed a new part time job at a department store nearby. It wasn’t anything fancy, just keeping tabs on customers and re-pricing items and earning some commission here and there. But it paid better than the convenience store he had been working at before, and let’s be honest; almost anything beat mopping up floors sticky with spilled slushies. 

Louis usually had Thursday afternoons free, but with a big exam the following day in the one class he really didn’t understand he found himself agreeing to a group study session with several other confused classmates. And with the stress of classes and papers and exams weighing him down, he didn’t even think about warning Harry ahead of time because the thought just hadn’t crossed his mind. 

Zayn was usually home Thursday afternoons, anyway. 

But Louis soon remembered his friend’s new job when he arrived back at the flat later that evening because of the thing he found waiting at his doorstep. The person he found, rather—for curled up next to the door of apartment C with his knees drawn to his chest, backpack by his feet, and his head bobbing in and out of consciousness, was Harry. 

“Oh, my god.” 

Not even seconds later the older boy was crouched down beside him, jostling his shoulder. “Harry, shit, I’m sorry,” he tried to speak quietly at first, but ultimately almost ended in a yell just to wake the boy up. 

Green eyes slowly blinked open to peer at Louis in confusion. 

“Shit, Haz, I am  _so_  sorry,” Louis stressed, feeling a bit sick to his stomach as he realized how late it really was. The clock had already struck half past eight. He couldn’t quite look at the younger boy when he asked, “How long have you been out here?” 

Harry’s eyes shifted toward the window above the steps of the complex before settling back on Louis. “A while,” was all he said through a yawn before stretching. His arms fell from their stretch and his head rolled against the wall as he stared at Louis with a stupid sort of grin. “Guess I fell asleep,” he added. 

“Guess so.” Louis sighed out a chuckle and allowed himself a half smile. “Sorry we left you stranded out here.” 

Harry shook his head, though, a fringe of curls falling in his eyes with the motion. “You didn’t,” he tried. 

But Louis’ smile turned a bit more crooked with guilt. “We kinda did. Unintentionally, I mean, Zayn’s got his new job and I met up with some other people for revision and I really should have told you about that earlier, but I—” 

He stopped. 

A hand had brushed just along the top of his, skin hardly grazing skin, there but only barely. The ghost of a touch had the hairs standing up along Louis’ forearm, and he raised his stare from the floor to find two pools of bluish-green waiting for him, a lopsided smile and the gentle dent of a dimple in tow. 

“Lou,” Harry spoke in a tone that would have made Louis believe even the most obvious of lies. “Don’t worry about it, really. It happens.” 

 _It shouldn’t_ , Louis wanted to say. 

Accidents happen. Disasters happen. Earthquakes happen. But leaving your friend stranded for hours shouldn’t happen, Louis wanted to say. He wanted to, but he didn’t. He couldn’t, not when that ghost of a touch turned into something stronger and more real and tangible than before, fingers wrapping around the back of his hand to squeeze in reassurance. And as that lopsided smile turned into something fuller? 

“Fine,” Louis agreed, albeit unwillingly. “It happens. I  _am_  sorry, though.” 

“I know,” Harry said. “But it’s okay.” 

“It shouldn’t be, not that easily.”

“But it is.”

“Only because you’re way too understanding, Haz.” 

Harry simply smiled. 

Louis mirrored it and stood up, purposely not letting go of Harry’s hand in the process. “C’mon,” he said as the younger boy looked up at him uncertainly, eyes trailing on their hands. If it were anyone else so caught up on such a simple touch, Louis might’ve smirked and rolled his eyes, maybe even laughed. But this was Harry staring at Louis’ fingers wrapped around his palm, holding onto him and offering more than just a hand to help him up from the ground. 

So Louis didn’t smirk. He couldn’t. Instead, a gentle smile adorning his lips, he caught Harry’s eyes and gave his hand a little, encouraging tug. “Let’s get inside, yeah?” 

The curly-haired boy hesitated, as he always did, but Louis didn’t mind it. He always had the patience to wait. Green eyes flitted from Louis’ face to their hands and back again before Harry nodded with a final smile. “Yeah,” he agreed. 

Louis helped him up with another tug of the hand and didn’t dare drop his hold as they entered the flat that evening, not even to fumble with his keys. 

There’s a reason we have two hands. 

**

“Cultivation theory,” Harry read aloud from the index cards in his hands and tried not to yawn. 

After all, he had been drilling Louis with flashcards for the past hour and a half, and the clock now read well after one in the morning. Theories were boring enough on their own—reviewing them for over an hour from a stack of index cards that seemed never-ending was even worse. Harry was about as tired (and on the verge of tears) from the whole process as Louis was, and he wasn’t even the one being tested. 

“I know this!” Louis said—shouted, rather, as he’d been near wailing moments before over a term he’d sworn they never even mentioned in lecture or discussion—and tugged at his hair with both hands. “Shit, shit, shit, I swear I know this one. It’s a theory that says…” 

His mind went blank. 

Screwing his face up in thought, he cracked open one eye as he answered sheepishly, “Something about… media… cultivating the public?” 

Harry laughed at the guess but shook his head, placing the card into the Needs to be Reviewed Again (Again) pile. “A valiant effort, Lou, but not quite.” 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Louis sighed and snatched the card from the top of the pile to look at the proper definition. His eyes scanned the lines three times—in hopes to better retain the information, of course—before he threw the index card aside and fell back against the couch in total and utter defeat. “I accept failure now,” he muttered, one arm flung across his eyes. 

The younger boy smiled at the sight but bit back any giggles. “No you don’t, Lou.” 

“Actually, yes, I do,” Louis told him without bothering to remove his arm from across his face. “I should’ve accepted it hours ago, really. I mean it’s clear there are no chances for success on this exam tomorrow. None. Zero. Null. Completely non-existent.” 

“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” Harry tried to reassure him, but Louis shot it away with a groan. 

“Haz,” Louis finally peered out from beneath his arm, “I’m not being funny but have you been paying attention at all tonight?” He didn’t wait for Harry to answer. “I know shit about these theories!” 

Harry eyed the stacks of flashcards. “You actually knew a decent amount.” 

“But knowing a decent amount of things I guessed at isn’t going to help on an essay exam,” Louis grumbled and buried his face in his hands this time, groaning in frustration at, well, everything. 

Because at the moment, the only thing he could really think about was how much he hated school. Why the hell was he even in university? Who ever decided that was a bright idea? Clearly someone had not been thinking straight when they allowed him entrance, because this had to be a joke. It had to be. “Jesus, Harry, you’re so lucky,” he found himself blurting out a minute later, face still buried in his hands. 

“Why’s that?” 

“Because you won’t have to deal with all this university crap.” 

There was an odd sort of silence at first, followed by, “ _Oh_.”

And

 _Shit_. 

Louis peeked out from behind his hands, his features scrunched up in something like uncertainty and guilt as he looked over toward Harry. Harry, however, had busied himself with straightening up the flashcards and mindlessly flipping through them and looking at anything but Louis. 

“Sorry,” Louis just barely said, his voice but a guilt stricken squeak. “I-I didn’t mean to say that you won’t…”  _Ever go to uni_ , the words stuck in his throat, but it was probably for the best. He hadn’t meant to say that. There was still a chance for Harry to go to university, of course, but considering he’d been on the streets for nearly half a year now (if Louis remembered calculated correctly) and out of education for just as long… Well, it wasn’t happening in the present or the very near future, and the words had slipped from Louis’ tongue before his brain could stop them. 

Just as the next question slipped from his tongue as well, “Did you plan on going to university?” Harry stilled at the question, and Louis, for some reason, felt the compulsive urge to add, “I mean before…”  _Whatever it was that happened_. (Louis still didn’t know.)

Harry didn’t respond at first. His head stayed bowed in the seconds—minutes—to follow, his eyes staying just as low and avoiding the whole time, even as he found his voice. “Of course,” was his answer, and he said it in such a way that made it sound like Louis was foolish for even asking. 

“I still want to,” he continued, a bit more determinedly than before, “if I ever can. Maybe if I have the wherewithal someday to get there, but I… I know it’s not likely.” 

“But not impossible,” Louis tacked on for good measure. 

The younger boy finally looked up, eyes landing on Louis as he tried on a smile for size. It didn’t quite reach all his features, but, “Right,” he agreed. “Not impossible, I just…” He sighed, his eyes dropping for another moment. “You know when you’ve accepted that something will never happen, but you still have that voice in the back of your head saying maybe? That one part of you still hoping for the best?” 

He glanced up and Louis nodded. “Well, it’s like that. I mean, maybe someday, but I’ll probably be a proper adult by then.” 

He laughed. 

It was a dry laugh, as he looked down at the textbook still opened and resting on his lap. His lips remained peeled into the smile of his laugh, but his eyes didn’t quite match his humor. If Louis were to look close enough, he might have thought them something sad. 

But he could still tell from his spot a cushion over that Harry wasn’t really amused by the situation whatsoever. Of course, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to sort that out. Louis was not a rocket scientist, nor was he one to ever say he was astronomically good with reading other’s emotions, but he was human and he was a good friend and it didn’t take much thought to reach across the space between them to give the younger boy’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. 

Green eyes rose slowly, hesitantly to meet blue, and this time around Louis expected the hazy film of tears he found covering them. 

He didn’t make a scene of it, though, didn’t even point it out. Rather, he just smiled at Harry and told him the simplest words he could find that felt best at that moment. “Don’t rule it out so soon, Harry.” 

Harry wore a smile after, but it was the kind of smile that had abandoned hope long ago. 

**

His (horrible) exam and a much-needed night out behind him, Louis managed to crawl out of bed Saturday morning at the ungodly hour of nine in the morning. Any other weekend or day of the week when he really didn’t have to get up, he would have taken advantage of the free time and stayed cooped up in his bed until the sun was well high in the sky. 

But not today. 

Today, Louis got out of bed with something like anticipation vibrating through his every muscle, shaking his bones, rattling his brain, itching, itching, itching him to get up and going. 

Today was… Well, it was something special. 

He didn’t waste any time getting ready, showering quickly and throwing on a fresh shirt and a pair of trousers and yelling out for Harry to wake up because they had places to go and things to do. Harry grumbled at first—he was a teenager and it was Saturday morning, after all—but rolled off the couch after a few minutes and followed Louis’ instructions with eyes still blurry from sleep. 

It was only a quarter past eleven when Louis and Harry piled into the car with chattering teeth, gloved hands, and a list of errands and items to buy. 

“Where’re we headed today?” Harry wondered as they pulled out of the car park, stifling a yawn into his fist. 

“Um, I was thinking we’d stop by the hardware store first,” Louis ran across his words quickly, eyes on the road, “then grab a bite near the shopping centre and drop in and bug Zayn a bit later while getting some other things, and lastly pick up some groceries on the way home. Wouldn’t want some of the cold stuff to spoil, anyway."”

“Hmm," Harry hummed with a nod, but then, “What's at the hardware store? You and Zayn remodeling or something?”

Louis laughed, uneasily. He hoped it didn't show. “Not quite. Just small things, need new light bulbs and Zayn needs some screws for something? I don't know exactly; he wrote it all down. Just some little things.”

Harry hummed again. "Alright," was all he said.

"Okay, so," Louis spoke up later as they parked outside the hardware store. "It's kind of a lengthy list here, so I was thinking it might be best if we break it in half. You can pick up some of the things and I'll get the rest and I'll meet you by the checkout in fifteen?"

"Um," Harry started as he closed his door and met Louis' gaze over the top of the car. His brow was scrunched up in what Louis could only assume was confusion. "Okay?"

"Just to save some time," Louis explained, but Harry still looked at him quizzically as they broke apart once in the store. 

Louis didn't try to explain things any farther, though, because he needed Harry off on his own, at least for a few minutes. And as soon as Harry disappeared down one of the aisles, Louis let out a sigh he hadn't known he’d been holding and made his way to the small section of the store he needed—the sole destination of this entire outing. 

That was the plan, at least, since he had texted Zayn Thursday night.   
 _  
Harry got locked out today_

_sucks. how'd that go?_

_he's fine and all i just... it got me to thinking_

_okay...?  
_  
Shopping list away, Louis walked up to the counter and greeted the older man who was tending the station. 

"What can I do for you today, son?"  
 _  
well you said we should get him a bed, but like what good is the bed if he can't even get inside to it?_

 _lou wtf are you going on about? my break's almost up  
_  
Louis squirmed a bit to free his keys from the front pocket of his trousers and released another sigh as he flipped through them until he came to the key for the flat.   
 _  
we both have keys. shouldn't he as well???  
_  
He worked it off of the ring to separate it from the others and handed it over to the worker.  
 _  
ur such a prick lou._

_?_

_no shit he needs a key. tbh i'm surprised u haven't gotten him 1 already aha :) later you twat x  
_  
"Just need a copy of this one made, if I can?" Louis asked with a knot of nerves twisting in his stomach, and he certainly wasn't blushing.

"Sure thing," the older man said with a smile before going about his work. 

And Louis couldn't quite believe what he was doing. 

Zayn had agreed to it, of course, but actually going about the steps to make it happen made it much more real than just thinking and talking about it.

This was happening.

Louis drummed his fingers against the counter as he waited, only pulling out of his thoughts to answer a few questions the worker had asked him. And then, not five minutes later, he was checked out with the duplicate key in a small white paper bag, placed in the pocket of his coat, and off to find a pack of light bulbs. 

"Got it all," a voice snuck up just behind Louis as he found his way into the lighting aisle. 

He nearly jumped, but a smile slid easily across his lips as he turned to find Harry standing maybe a bit too close, a basket full of miscellaneous items in tow. "Awesome, Haz, thanks.”

Harry grinned too, following Louis down the aisle, but he furrowed his brow after looking the older boy once over. "Did you get lost?" he wondered. "Or are they just out of... everything?"

"What? Oh, no, I, um," Louis stumbled through his words and swallowed the truth as wringed together his empty hands. "Stopped in the restroom, is all." 

"I see," Harry said with one brow still lifted in disbelief, but he let the topic slide. 

"Did you find everything alright, though?" Louis asked mindlessly as he picked up the right kind of bulbs from the shelf.

"Yeah, yeah." Harry nodded, and Louis pretended he wasn't still looking at him oddly. "Nothing too hard to find."

"Good, that's good." 

A few more items thrown into the basket, they made their way through the checkout (which had a rather long line—why do so many people save all the shopping for their DIY home improvement projects for Saturday mornings?) and back out to the car park. 

"Thanks for tagging along, by the way," Louis spoke up once outside, nudging Harry's shoulder with his own. "Gets boring if you run all these errands on your own. Tiring, too. Exhausting, really. Speaking of which, off to lunch now?" 

The curly-haired boy laughed at keeping up with Louis' train of thought and nodded. "Yeah, lunch sounds wonderful." 

"Fantastic," Louis grinned as he closed the trunk, purchased items already thrown in the back. "To lunch we go!"

Harry chuckled again and got in on the passenger's side, not noticing as Louis hesitated on the driver's side, pausing with one hand on the handle and the other slipping into his coat's pocket. His hand wrapped around the small white bag he had placed there, fingers tracing the small bulge of the key resting inside. His stomach flip-flopped. 

But it was silly, he knew. It was silly—stupid—to be so nervous and anxious for Harry’s reaction. It was just a key, anyway. A key! What was there to be nervous about? It wasn’t like he was asking a girlfriend or boyfriend to move in, taking that next big step in a relationship. 

This was  _just_  Harry, the curly-haired boy who didn’t deserve what life had given him. The boy who deserved more than Louis could provide, but that didn’t stop the older boy from trying to help him along the way. And this key, giving Harry the choice to stay until he didn’t want to any longer, was nothing more than Louis helping Harry to stand back up on his feet. 

So it was stupid, Louis told himself as he shook his head and let out a sigh of silly nerves. With a steadying breath, he pulled the bag out of his coat and got into the car with no more hesitations, no more worries, and tossed the bag onto the dash along with his wallet and phone. 

And there the bag stayed as he started up the car; as he pulled out of the parking spot and out of the lot entirely; as he started up a conversation; as the conversation lulled and Harry fooled with the radio; as a Cadillac cut him off and he had to slam on the breaks with a racing heart; as they talked through lunch options and Harry ultimately said it was up to him; as they got stuck in traffic on the way through the city; as Louis drummed on the steering wheel and tried not to let the white paper bag distract him. 

That is, until they pulled up to a stop light just a few minutes away from the shopping centre. And on a whim (aka he just couldn’t wait any longer), Louis snatched the bag from beneath his wallet and handed it over to Harry with a simple, “Here.” 

Harry lifted a brow. “What’s this?” 

“It’s a…” Louis let out a breath and kept his eyes glued to the car in front of him. “It’s just. It’s for you, okay? From Zayn and me.” 

“Erm,” Harry hesitated and unfolded the top of the bag. “Okay…” 

Neither said anymore as Harry opened up the bag, the crinkling of the paper the only sound beside the quiet muttering of a pop song through the car speakers, until

“Oh.” 

Louis glanced over to find Harry staring at the key he had dropped into the palm of his hand. Just… staring, face unreadable, shaggy curls hiding his eyes, not saying a word in response. 

“It’s to the flat,” Louis explained after another moment and turned his attention back to the road. “We—Zayn and I—we figured since you’re staying with us and all, it… You shouldn’t have to wait around for one of us or get locked out like the other day or.” 

He cut himself off with a sigh and stole another glance back over toward the passenger’s seat; not much had changed. 

“Look,” he said, dropping his voice to little more than whisper, “we just… You know you’re welcome to stay, Haz, for as long as you want. And we, it… It can be more than a couch.” 

Rolling to another stop, Louis took the opportunity to look over at Harry again, and this time the younger boy was already looking right at him. His green eyes were wide and glistening and for the first time in a very long time, he looked hopeful. 

“Are…” He sucked in a breath that shook on intake. “Are you sure?” 

Louis smiled and breathed out any remaining reservations. “Never been surer.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Of course.”

A grin stole Harry’s features as he closed his hand securely around the key, and Louis decided he quite liked it when Harry smiled. 

~*~


	13. Who's Counting: Willing to Listen

Harry started to curl in on himself the farther they carried on into March. 

It was little things at first—zoning out, getting lost in his thoughts more often than usual, not saying so much as a word during some meals—but then he was being mindless. He left lights on in rooms he had no intention of returning to, kicked off his shoes and left them lying in places they shouldn’t be, forgot to pick up after himself. He almost threw away his glass of juice one morning, instead of the empty jug. 

He was just… He was curling in on himself, emotionally and mentally. He knew he was, and he knew it was showing, but he didn’t know how to stop it. 

A weight was settling into the pit of his stomach. It grew heavier with each passing day, with each thought and memory, and he was glaring at the TV because of it. He was trying to focus on the rerun of  _Misfits_  rather than the cold, hard, sick kind of feeling that felt something like guilt, shame, sadness, and a kick to the stomach all rolled into one, but one was far more demanding than the other. 

He willed the feeling away as best he could and blinked his attention to settle back on the show. Nathan’s antics weren’t keeping him as interested today, though. Usually he liked the curly-haired fellow on the show ( _not_  just because of his curly hair), as he could nearly always bring a smile to his face. But today he found himself following Simon’s character around the screen more often than usual. He didn’t know what it was or why, but he reckoned he would get on with Simon the easiest. Simon with the kind smile and the gentle blue eyes; he’d probably be a good listener, Harry thought. 

Harry was so caught up in this train of thought that he nearly jumped when a different kind smile and a far more familiar pair of gentle blue eyes all their own ducked into his field of vision, blocking his view of the set. 

“Y’alright there, Haz?” Louis’ voice cut into his internal dialogue. 

Harry nodded, tentative at first, and then once more. “I’m fine,” he said and furrowed his brow at the older boy. “Why?” 

Louis straightened up with a curious little smile and ruffled Harry’s curls playfully. “Been calling your name for two minutes, goofball,” he told him, jutting his thumb back toward his bedroom. “I’ve got the list of showings up on my laptop. Wanted you to come give them a quick look.” He paused for a second, frowning. “That is… I mean you still want to go, yeah?” 

“Yeah, yeah, ‘course,” Harry found himself assuring the older boy too quickly, smile already peeling across his lips because Louis actually wanted to spend time with him and it had the younger boy floating on cloud nine. So maybe it was only a bargain-time showing of a new comedy that had just hit theaters, but Harry didn’t mind it. He could use the laugh, and he suspected Louis knew that, too.

But Louis noticeably relaxed at the confirmation and grinned. “Good!” he settled, blue eyes shining not unlike those of the Simon character on the screen of the telly behind him. Harry thought, fleetingly, that maybe Louis would be a good listener, too. But then he was being dragged out the door, and the thought left him as quickly as the two of them left the flat that late March afternoon. 

The movie was good, served as a distraction long enough to pull Harry out of his own head and into the lives and problems of a fictional set of characters instead. It was nice and he liked having that afternoon with Louis, no Zayn or Niall or Josh in tow. He liked hearing Louis’ laughter beside him throughout the film; the sound filled his ears and made his chest feel a lot less empty. And he liked when their elbows met on the armrest or when their hands accidentally brushed together in the bin of popcorn, reminding him that he wasn’t entirely alone. He had Louis, he realized, and that made the weight in his stomach a little lighter. 

But then the movie ended, and Louis’ laughter wasn’t as frequent and their elbows were no longer touching and their hands were shoved into pockets instead of brushing against each other as they weaved their way through the car park. And that weight was heavier again, and Harry felt himself slipping back into his thoughts on the drive back to the flat. 

“Harry?” Louis asked at one point, stopped in traffic. He looked over at the younger boy with a worried brow. “Is everything… Are you okay?” 

Harry managed a smile and a nod. “Just been tired,” he said. 

“Just tired?” 

“Been having trouble sleeping,” Harry clarified, and that wasn’t a lie. 

Louis chewed on his lower lip before wondering, “Nightmares again?” 

That night from December, when he’d woken up from a bad dream and Louis had woken up too, flashed to mind, and Harry’s stomach swirled in memory. That had been a rough night, but it didn’t compare to the restless nights he’d been suffering the past week. He shook his head, though. “No, just trouble getting to sleep.” 

The older boy looked doubtful but turned his eyes back to the road with an indifferent hum, and Harry swore the weight got heavier as the drive wore on in silence. 

Until, “You know you can talk to me, right?”

Harry’s eyes bounced from where they had been trained on the dashboard to lie on the man beside him. Louis was facing straight ahead and seemed to be trying very hard not to look away from the bumper of the car in front of them. He swallowed thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and braced his knuckles so tightly on the steering wheel that they shone white by the time he added, “If anything’s ever wrong, I mean. I, I’m willing to listen.” 

Blue tore away from the road and met green for a moment so short that Harry almost missed it, but the curly-haired boy nodded his understanding. “Okay,” he said, knowing full well he wouldn’t be taking advantage of the offer. 

Not anytime soon. 

**

It was in late March, though, when Harry was afforded a new distraction from himself; it came in the form of a part-time job. 

He owed it all to Josh, who had apparently put in a good word for Harry with his boss after one of his coworkers quit a couple weeks prior. The owner, Nick, had been on the fence at first, saying he would really prefer someone with at least a bit of experience. 

But after a long, steady stare and a heavy sigh, he had told Harry with an outstretched hand, “You’re a good kid, y’know. This place could use some of those.”

Harry was placed on the work schedule the next morning. 

It wasn’t much and he was usually stuck with the crummiest jobs—cleaning the toilets, sweeping the floors, scraping off old sale stickers and sticking on the new ones—but he was on the payroll and he was making money for himself, and that made him happier than a lot of things, really. 

The position was at a sell-it-again sort of place on the outskirts of town.  _A Home for Lost Things_ , the store was called, and Harry thought there had never been a more fitting name. They bought and sold nearly anything, but music and art were the store’s specialties. Nick treated the store’s PA system like his own radio station, let aspiring musicians test out equipment, gave impromptu lessons, and even set up a little stage in the back corner of the store for performance nights whenever enough local talents signed up. 

Harry didn’t think it was a place he would really frequent on his own, not just to spend the time, but the curly-haired boy couldn’t imagine a better place to work. Maybe his duties weren’t all that spectacular for the pay, and maybe he found chewing gum in places he never thought it would be, but he found a couple weeks into working there that he really didn’t mind it. 

He worked nearly every day of the week and usually stuck around as often as he could, until Nick would force him to take a day off and “ _be a teenager, for once, Harry_.” 

But Harry liked staying at the shop for as long as he could, busying himself with whatever little task was at hand that day, getting lost in the stacks of old books or used records and CDs and games. He took what he could get, just to pull away from his thoughts for a couple hours. 

It was on one of these days, in the midst of restocking a portion of the stacks with new arrivals, when a cardboard cup of coffee was pushed through an empty slot on the shelf. 

Harry furrowed his brow after straightening from the box he had been leaning over, and narrowed his eyes at the familiar logo on the cup. Frowning, he spared a glance down the aisle, both ways, and only glanced through to the other side when a faint snigger carried through. 

“Hello?” he greeted, hesitant. 

There was a beat of silence, and then

“Hiya, Harry,” a familiar voice responded, and moments later a boy with wavy brown hair rounded the end of the stacks. A wide grin pulled back his lips and bunched up his apple cheeks, and he was holding a similar cup of coffee in his gloved hands as he came fully into view. 

“George,” Harry breathed out the name and felt himself smiling without even meaning to. “How’ve you been?” 

George’s smile seemed to grow just a tad, growing more natural at the greeting, and he let out a nervous sort of laughter. “I’ve been well. Great, really,” he amended and leaned just against the end of the shelves. “How about yourself? I mean you must be doing well, getting a job and all.” 

“Yeah, I,” Harry cut off, smiling, a bit dumbfounded. “How did you even…?”

“Oh,” George chuckled and waved one hand like it wasn’t a big deal. “My mate Jaymi stops by here, like, all the time, and he sings sometimes at the talent nights and mentioned there was someone new working—a  _cute_  someone new with curly hair and green eyes, and.” 

He stopped, ducking his head low with a flaring blush. “Well, I was curious and passing by the other day on my way from work and thought maybe since I hadn’t seen you at the library in a while that maybe it was you, and I.” He cut himself off, grimacing. “Shit, this is making me sound like a proper stalker, isn’t it?” 

Harry had thought it’d be weird, running into George after that one date nearly a month prior, but here he was grinning and laughing with the other boy like maybe he had backed out of a friendship too soon. He shook his head though, hoping the heat pooling in his cheeks wasn’t too obvious, and assured him, “No, no, makes sense. I, erm, I know who Jaymi is at least. He’s really good.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded and finally reached for the coffee George had clearly brought for him. “He’s, um. He has a really good voice, few times I’ve heard him.” 

George’s eyes seemed to twinkle. “You don’t know how thrilled he’ll be to hear that,” he said, bouncing on his toes as he spoke. “Like really, it’s one thing coming from me, he expects me to tell him he’s good ‘cause I’m his best mate and all. But coming from someone new, that’ll,” he paused, shaking his head as though to clear his thoughts, and grinned. “He’ll be on cloud nine, honestly.” 

Harry only smiled, unable to think of anything else to say, and at last raised his coffee toward George. “Thanks, by the way,” he added. 

“Oh that, not a problem,” George told him with an easy laugh, shrugging. “Perks of working at a coffee shop.” 

“What about coffee?” a voice shouted from across the store, gaining both boys’ attention. “Harry! Did you go on a coffee run without telling me?” 

“No, Josh,” Harry assured the older boy as he came bounding from near the backroom to stand beside them. 

A curious, eager sort of look filled his face as he took in George, and he didn’t waste so much as a second before extending a hand toward him. “Hey,” he greeted, grinning excitedly. “I’m Josh. Friend of Harry’s?” 

“Uh,” George stammered for the first time that afternoon but smiled, “Yeah, yeah, a friend of Harry’s. Name’s George.” 

“George.” Josh parroted and then frowned. “Wait. George. Niall’s mentioned a George. I’m not supposed to like you. Harry, why am I not supposed to like this boy who brings you coffee, he seems nice?” 

Harry parted his lips to defend the boy beside him, but George was already speaking before he could even get out a word. 

“Niall?” he wondered, a crease blemishing his brow. “Is he the one who came in when I walked you home after our date?” 

“Ye—”

“ _Date_  George, oh my god that explains it!” Josh interrupted, smacking himself on the forehead. 

“Why are you supposed to hate me? Just because I went on a date with Harry, or?” 

“Well,” Josh laughed lightly and smirked as he explained. “Matchmaker Niall gets a little, shall we say, protective? And that includes developing irrational hate for people who unknowingly interfere with his grand schemes.” 

George’s brow leveled out and he grinned instead, perking up a bit. “I interfered with a grand scheme?” he asked, lowering his voice as though suddenly they were discussing the day’s hottest gossip. 

“Maybe not a grand scheme,” Josh corrected, “but he’s certainly got some things in mind and this idea that—”

“ _Matchmaker_  Niall?” Harry interrupted, stumbling across the word only once. 

Josh stilled midsentence, his jaw hanging ajar as he looked to Harry. He stayed that way for a moment, before clamping his mouth shut and flushing a color so bright Harry thought he might be ill. But he cleared his throat, scratched the back of his neck, and took a step backward. “I, um, I… Well, not really a  _matchmaker_ , per se, but he, I, erm. I’ve already said too much. I think I heard Nick calling my name, so I’m gonna…” 

He trailed off to a mumble and turned on his heels, scurrying off to the backroom again before Harry could get out another word. 

The curly-haired boy stared after him with a bewildered look before turning back to George, who looked just as confused with the situation. 

But George was the first to break the silence that followed, wondering aloud, “It’s your one friend… Louis, innit?” 

Harry furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?” 

George sighed, laughing lightly. It sounded strained. “I don’t mean anything by it, really, it’s just.” He sighed again, shaking his head. “When we went out, you… You kind of mentioned Louis some. A lot, actually. Like, I don’t even think you meant to, but the way you talked about him, I mean.” He broke off, scrunched up his face in an uncertain smile. “You made him sound really, really special.” 

 _Because he is_ , Harry thought but swallowed the words. Of course Louis was special to him; after months on the street and weeks in the cold, in the bitter rain and early snows, Louis was the first person to turn to him out of the blue and treat him like he was human, not the scum beneath his shoe. 

Louis didn’t look at him like he was a charity case. He didn’t look at him as just some way to do himself a good deed and wrack up some good karma in the process. Louis wanted to help Harry when he was down, when he was at the bottom of the barrel, the end of his rope. Without question, without greeting, without even a word, he had turned to Harry and offered him a hand when he’d needed it most. 

So of course Louis was likened to something special in Harry’s mind. 

He’d be bloody mad not to think so. 

But he didn’t explain all of that to George that day. The most he said was, softly, “He’s helped me out a lot the past few months.” 

And George gave him a sad kind of smile, the kind someone gives you when they don’t have the heart to tell you want they really want to. It made Harry’s stomach churn. “Right. He’s helped you out,” George repeated, slower, and it sounded like he had more to say, like what he really meant lay beneath his actual words. 

But he didn’t say anymore about it, instead moved on with a quick twitch of his features. “Speaking of, told a friend I’d help her out with some project tonight, so.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder, toward the door. “I should get going.” 

Harry nodded, not sure what else to say. What he could say. There were a lot of words—explanations, thoughts he’d been trying to ignore—scampering about his mind, piling upon his tongue, but he bit them back, swallowed them down, buried every last one. 

He settled for, “Yeah, I, um, work,” while motioning lamely to the pile of used books that lay forgotten by his feet. 

George nodded his understanding and turned back only once he was by the door, his hand already on the bar to the push it open. He looked back to Harry with a hopeful sort of smile resting upon his lips. “Stop by for a coffee sometime, yeah?” 

Harry smiled, a bit weakly. “Yeah, definitely.” 

The smile on George’s lips faltered slightly, but he kept it from falling. “Great,” he said. “I’ll see you sometime soon, then.” 

And with that, the boy with the wavy hair, apple cheeks, and eyes that were distinctly not blue, pushed open the door to the shop and left with a whoosh of wind behind him and an air of false promises. 

Harry stared after him for a moment, pondering, but shook his head and returned to restacking the shelves. 

His coffee ran cold. 

**

“Harry!” 

Louis’ voice woke the younger boy a few days later. Harry groaned as his name echoed through the flat once more, and he blinked open his eyes to light that was surely too bright to be the sun wafting through the open blinds by the couch. 

“Harry!” came another shout, and Harry wondered just how many pillows and blankets it would take to block out the ear-piercing noise. He was partway through imagining this scenario when another shout cut into his rambling thoughts. 

“Haz, come in here, please!” 

Harry sighed but finally called back an obliging response, swinging his legs off the couch and pulling himself into a sitting position. He sat for a moment, gathering his bearings and stretching his arms and neck and even wiggling his toes, before making his way to Louis’ room with shuffling feet. “Morning,” he greeted, voice as groggy as his head felt. 

Louis was situated at the head of his bed, legs crisscrossed and laptop tilted at an angle in front of him. He grinned, glasses shifting just a tad upward with the action, and motioned for Harry to join him with a wave of his hand. “C’mere,” he said, sounding much too enthusiastic for this hour on a Sunday, but Harry didn’t comment on it. “Want you to say hi to some people.” 

Harry stopped, just inches from the bed. “Sorry?” 

“I’m Skyping with my sisters and they want to say hi,” Louis explained shortly and urged him again, “C’mon, Haz, they can’t bite you, they’re all the way back in Doncaster right now.” 

But Harry’s heart was hammering, and he felt his cheeks warming with a blush. He wasn’t worried of the girls or anything silly like that, it was just… It was  _Louis’ family_ , and Harry had just woken up and he still had sleepers crusting his eyes and knew his hair was matted across his forehead and, point blank, families made him nervous. Sure, Louis got on with him well enough, but what if—

The thought was cut short as a hand wrapped around Harry’s forearm and yanked him onto the bed without any further warning. Harry stumbled and nearly fell into Louis’ lap with the unexpected force, and he turned at the sound of laughter trickling out of the laptop speakers. 

Three girls were huddled into the frame. One looked like she could be close to Harry’s age, and the two others were younger, still in primary school, Harry imagined, and were near spitting images of each other. But they all had the same dirty blond hair and big blue eyes and Harry thought he’d have known who they were even if Louis hadn’t told him. 

All three girls giggled, a bit nervously, and Harry felt his cheeks warming as he scrambled to sit upright beside Louis. 

“Hi,” he squeaked out, settling in as close to Louis as he could while taking care that their legs or hips or even fingertips didn’t touch. Nearly falling into the older boy’s lap had already sent enough shocks through his body to last an entire day.

The girls laughed again. 

“Who’s that?” one of them, one of the younger two, asked, her voice reserved. 

Her twin shrugged, added with a pout, “Louis, we can’t see ‘im! Where’d he go?”

The eldest snorted. “You’re not even in the frame, Harry,” she explained, talking like she’d known him for years, like she even knew about him at all. She grinned and motioned with her hand. “Shove in a bit, will you? No mind shoving in on Louis’ personal space. He’s no sense of the idea, anyway.” 

“Oh hush,” Louis said with a laugh. “That’s real rich coming from you, Lottie.” 

The older girl—Lottie—only shrugged a shoulder and stuck out her tongue. 

“He’s back!” one of the twins exclaimed, and her face lit up as she waved at the screen. “Hi! I’m Phoebe. Who’re you? Louis, who is he, again?” 

Louis chuckled and moved in just a little closer to Harry, their knees stacked in their crisscrossed positions on Louis’ bed. He adjusted the screen a tad before responding. “Girls, this is  _Harry_ ,” he introduced, emphasizing the name like it was something special. Harry liked the way it sounded. 

“And, Haz,” Louis nudged Harry’s shoulder with his own, “these are three of my perfectly annoying little sisters. Lottie, Daisy, and Phoebe. The fourth one, Felicite, is off at a friend’s.” 

Each girl waved and said hi after her name, and Phoebe didn’t waste a second before springing back into conversation. 

“Harry?” She questioned, blue eyes wide and curious. “Like Prince Harry? And, and, like the wizard? Harry Potter? I like him.” 

Harry heard himself laughing before he even felt it, and he grinned along with his nod. “Just like them,” he agreed. 

Phoebe squinted then, leaning in close to the screen. “Are  _you_  a wizard, Harry?” 

Lottie rolled her eyes, pulling Phoebe away from the screen. “Wizards aren’t real, Pheebs,” she said, exasperatedly like maybe this was something they went over on a semi-regular basis. 

The younger girl pouted, and her twin looked to Lottie with equally wide eyes. “Fizzy says they are,” she said, an edge of defense to her words. 

“Yeah, well,” Lottie laughed, “Felicite also begged for a broomstick last year on her birthday because she thought she could  _fly_.” 

“Did she really?” Louis asked, sounding surprised and looking amused. “Please tell me Mum gave into that.” 

“Wrapped up the broom from the kitchen, even snuck in a note that said it was from McGonagall,” Lottie told him with a wide grin. “And yes, you  _know_  she tried.” 

“Oh god,” Louis said and covered his face with a hand. “Why is this the first I’m hearing of this? There weren’t any broken bones, were there? Please tell me there were no broken bones.” 

“No, no, you would’ve heard about that,” Lottie said and shook her head. “Just some bruises and a brutally harsh reality check.” 

“I wanna fly!” Phoebe declared before Louis could reply. “But not on a broom. I wanna be like Superman! Or, ooh, Spiderman! Yeah, Spiderman. I wanna  _swing_  and fly, like that, that would be fun…” She trailed off, and then giggled, overwhelmed by the thought. 

Daisy shook her head. “I don’t think that’d be safe, Phoebe.” 

“But it’d be  _fun_.” 

“But you could  _die_.”

“Nuh-uh.” 

“Louis, tell her!” Daisy turned toward the screen then, looking desperate. 

Louis laughed again and Harry could feel it through where their shoulders were shoved up against each other. It made his lips curl into a smile of his own, just feeling it, and he might have laughed too when Louis added, “Pheebs, no flying or swinging from buildings or any of that until you’re  _at least_  twelve.” 

Phoebe’s face fell. “But I—”

“But nothing. You know Mum would never allow for it anyway—”

“What is it I’m not allowing?” a voice came from off screen. “Is that your brother?” 

“And his friend!” Phoebe added, turning to look away from the screen with an excited grin. “Harry, like the wizard!” 

“Harry?” the voice echoed and there was some noise in the background, some rustling and a door closing before footsteps sounded and another face ducked into view of the camera. An older woman peered down at the screen, her eyes sparkling and smile warm and caring. 

It made Harry’s stomach drop. 

“Harry, darling, it’s so lovely to finally meet you!” she greeted, and Harry could’ve sworn her smile grew as she fully entered the frame and snuck in to crouch behind the girls. Her eyes were light and kind, and Harry understood where Louis got it. 

“It’s, erm, nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Tomlinson,” he stammered in reply and tried to fight off the blood rushing to his cheeks. 

“Call me, Jay, love,” she corrected him, not unkindly. “So how are you, my dear? Happy you moved into the flat?” 

 _Moved in?_  Harry blinked at the screen and turned toward Louis, his brow furrowed in confusion. Blue eyes were already staring at him and a tiny smile rested upon the older boy’s lips. “I…?” Harry wondered, voice too quiet for the computer but loud enough for Louis. 

The older boy shrugged, his smile growing. “You’ve got a key, don’t you?” 

Harry opened his mouth to protest, to say that no, he hadn’t moved in, not really, it was still all only temporary. But it was then, that morning with Louis’ family watching on with curious, kind eyes and gentle smiles, with blue mixing into green, when Harry realized that his temporary stay at the flat had transformed into something much more permanent without his noticing. 

He had a  _key_. He had a… place he could return to after being out for the day, a spot to sleep every night without present fear of being kicked out, and finally a way to give something in return. He had a roof over his head and shoes on his feet and actual food at every meal, and it was the most he’d had in half a year. 

Thinking about it made his heart stutter and his palms sweat, it was so overwhelming. 

His mouth ran dry and he thought he might run for a glass of water, when a warm voice pulled him back into reality. 

“Living with my son isn’t driving you too nuts, is it?” Jay was wondering, peering at him eagerly from the computer’s screen. “I know he can leave behind quite a mess sometimes.” 

Harry laughed, a bit nervously, and shook his head, but Louis interrupted before he could think to respond. “Mum, please, I am not that careless.” 

Jay pursed her lips for a moment, humming in thought. “Let’s have Harry be the judge of that,” she said, grinning with an air of mischief that reminded Harry immediately of Louis. 

The older boy whined, though a smile clung to his features, and it would have taken too much control for Harry  _not_  to laugh. But then Louis’ hand was on top of Harry’s between their bodies and he was leaning in to whisper conspiratorially, his breath coming out in puffs of warm laughter against Harry’s ear as he spoke. “Just tell her I do all the wash and she’ll let it go,” he told him, chuckling. 

His fingers tightened around Harry’s hand and he added with a smile to his words before pulling away, “She’s totally in love with you, by the way.” 

A blush roared to Harry’s cheeks as Louis turned away, and he blushed even further as he realized he could see the color even in the little corner box on the screen showing their end of the video chat.

If any of the Tomlinsons noticed, none of them mentioned it. Rather, Jay continued with a teasing smile, “Now don’t sugarcoat it, Harry. How bad is it, really?” 

“Must be a pigsty, if his room here is anything to go by,” Lottie added, a slight smirk upon her lips. 

“So rude.” 

“Just being honest.” 

“It’s not messy here,” Harry responded with a clearing of his throat and felt his ears burning as all the eyes on the screen stared at him, curious. He ran a nervous hand through his curls and tried on a smile for size. “Really,” he emphasized, “He even does all the wash.” 

“See, Mum?” Louis beamed at the screen, his fingers tightening around Harry’s hand. 

Jay hummed, still sounding a bit disbelieving, but let the topic slide with an, “Alright, alright, since I don’t expect Harry to lie just minutes after meeting me, I’ll believe you.” 

Louis’ fingers curled around Harry’s a little further, squeezing once. 

“For now,” she continued with a growing smile. 

The older boy’s grip slackened around Harry’s hand, but he didn’t let go. “What d’you mean?”

His mother grinned, all shining teeth and excitement and Harry tried not to let the motherly look in Jay’s eyes get to him, but that knot in his chest seemed to tie itself impossibly tighter and the weight in his stomach felt heavier than normal and it took another squeeze of his hand to drag him away from himself. 

“I was thinking of dropping by for a quick visit sometime next month,” Jay was explaining as Harry tried to focus on her voice and not his thoughts or the clamminess spreading over his palms. “Snag a hotel for a night, bring the girls up for the weekend, maybe, if you all don’t mind us there.” 

“Mind?” Louis echoed, smile evident in his words. “Mum, you haven’t come down since the summer, of course we wouldn’t mind!” 

“Good!” Jay’s grin widened. “Splendid. We can meet properly then, Harry.” 

“We get to meet Harry!” Phoebe finally spoke up, jumping out of whatever daydream she had clearly fallen into whilst her mother was speaking. Her lips peeled back into a smile and she leaned up close to the screen again, looking down instead of up at the camera as she spoke. “Harry, Harry, will you teach me some  _spells_?” she wondered, ending in a whisper. 

Lottie sighed and Daisy tugged her twin back from the computer with an exasperated, “He can’t just teach you some spells, Phoebe, you’re not even a  _witch_.” 

“Oh, wonderful,” Jay lamented without much vigor, smoothing down Phoebe’s hair. “Perhaps Harry can think up a simple enough spell to teach you by next month, though?” 

She looked toward the camera, hopeful, and Harry felt his lips curving upward into the hint of a smile. “I’ll, erm, yeah, see what I can do,” he agreed, voice almost too quiet, but Louis’ hand tightened around his again, anchoring him. 

Jay smiled again and opened her mouth to say more when a voice interrupted her on the flat’s end of the chat. 

“Are you guys chatting with my favorite girls?” Zayn asked from the doorway, his hair still damp from his shower but an eager sort of grin pulling back his lips. 

“Is that Zayn? Zayn!” Phoebe called through the computer. “Zayn come say hi!” 

And within seconds the older boy was piling on the bed and draping himself over Louis and Harry’s laps just to squeeze into the frame. His limbs were everywhere and it should have been annoying, but Harry found himself laughing as Zayn got comfortable across them, his hand still wrapped within Louis’ now wedged beneath Zayn. 

“Hello to my favorite Tomlinsons,” he greeted, cheesy smile in place as he waggled a few fingers at them in lieu of a wave. “How’re you all, besides having Skype dates behind my back?” He emphasized the last word and rammed an elbow into Louis’ thigh, which earned a fitting  _oomph, Zayn, uncalled for_. 

“Oh, baby,” Jay sighed and shook her head. “We were just getting acquainted with your new flat mate.” 

“The wizard!” Phoebe interjected to a chorus of sighs. 

“Wizard, eh?” Zayn peered over his shoulder at Harry, cracking a grin. “That explains it.” 

“He’s gonna teach me some spells when we visit!” 

“Visit?” 

“Next month sometime,” Jay supplied. “If you’ll have us.” 

Zayn was all grins and excited words as he reassured her that they were always welcome,  _anything to see my Daisy_ , and Harry listened on as the dark-haired boy took over the conversation. 

It was nice, this—falling into easy conversations like he wasn’t just a temporary visitor with a set date to leave. 

Like he belonged. 

And as Louis laughed at something Lottie said and turned to Harry, fingers tightening and loosening around his hand like a pulse, Harry thought that maybe he did. 

**

April 1st

It was a Friday, and it was also the day Harry received his first paycheck. 

Josh had made a big deal of it when Harry was hired in March, taking him out to celebrate afterward and welcoming him to the work force. But afterward, he hadn’t thought much of it, the money-side of it. 

Until April 1st, when he knew a sum of money had been deposited into his bank account. He knew it wouldn’t be all that much—it was a part-time job, after all—but it was the most money his account had seen in months, the most he had ever made on his own, the most he had ever had under his name and his name alone. 

His nerves were jittering when he went to withdraw a portion of the paycheck late that Friday morning. His fingers shook as he entered in his old PIN and clicked through to see his balance. His eyes widened at the number. 3 digits followed by 2 decimal places. 

Pointer finger hovering over the withdraw option, he tapped it and withdrew just over two-thirds of the full amount. The machine spit out a couple £50 banknotes, the rest in twenties. Harry blinked at them for a moment, picking them up hesitantly and carefully placing them into a fold of the ratty, old, faux leather wallet he’d had since he turned 15. He closed the tri-fold with a shaky breath, slipped it into his jeans pocket, and made his way back to the flat with what little time he had left before his afternoon shift at the shop. 

The flat was empty when he got there. Zayn and Louis were both at class, and he was thankful for their Friday schedules. It gave him enough time to fold up the banknotes he’d just gotten, slipping them into a little makeshift envelope. He smoothed down the edges and placed it on the kitchen counter, knowing it wouldn’t be missed. 

But, he stared at it for a moment, his eyes flitting across the plain, stark white object. He hesitated for a moment and then snatched up a pen that had been left out on the kitchen table, picking up the little envelope again. As neatly as he could, he sketched onto the front of the paper in all capital letters:  _HARRY’S RENT : )_

It wouldn’t be nearly enough yet, he knew, but he returned the envelope to the counter and recapped the pen with a pinch of pride flaring in his chest. 

A small smile curled up just the corners of his mouth as he spared the envelope one last glance before leaving the flat. 

He went to work that afternoon with the constant reminder of his growing debt dissipating, just a bit. He knew Zayn would be the one to find his contribution to the rent, since Louis’ classes went late, and he knew Zayn would accept it without any qualms. Louis would try to hand it back to him; tell him it was okay, really, he didn’t have to do this. 

But he  _did_. Harry needed to do this, to contribute at least a little, to give something in return for everything he had taken over the past few months. He needed to do this to let them know just how grateful he was, for everything, because no matter how many times he told them thank you it never felt like enough. Thank you doesn’t pay the bills or buy the groceries or do the wash. Thank you only goes so far, and Harry was pretty sure he had already passed that point. 

So maybe Harry shouldn’t have been surprised when he got home from work that evening and was almost instantly wrapped up in a hug, a styled quiff brushing his cheek, but he was. “Um,” he started. 

Zayn let out a chuckle into Harry’s neck and tightened the grip he had around the younger boy. “You little shit,” he finally greeted, pulling away with a grin stretching his lips. 

Harry bit back a smile of his own but asked, “What?” 

The older boy shook his head and motioned for Harry to follow him into the kitchen, where he already had two glasses of wine poured. He picked one up for himself and handed the other to Harry, who looked at it with a raised brow. “What for?” 

Zayn grinned again. “For your first paycheck and your first job and for being a pretty awesome new roommate. That in itself warrants a celebration, doesn’t it?” He winked, tipped his glass toward Harry’s. “Cheers.” 

That pinch of pride flared again, and Harry could only smile back and offer in reply, “Cheers.” 

**

But that little rumble of self-respect Harry felt soon left him, and the distractions he’d found all throughout March could only last for so long. 

The second week of April, Harry found himself cooped up in the flat for two days. Nick had forced him to finally take a couple days off.   
 _  
“You look like the walking dead, Harry, really,” he’d said that Monday at work._

_“‘M fine,” Harry tried, scrubbing a hand down his face, though he knew it wouldn’t hide the dark tint to the skin below his eyes. “Just tired.”_

_Nick frowned. “There’s a pretty obvious line between tired and bloody exhausted, you know.”_

_“But I’m_ just _tired,” Harry insisted, leaning to pick up a box of vintage decorations Nick wanted him to put up on display. It took a lot more effort than it should have._

 _“Yeah,” Nick snorted, “and I’m_ just _a little gay. Harry, honestly, I don’t want you to overwork yourself.”_

 _“I’m_ not _.”_

_“Harry.”_

_The younger boy turned toward his boss, but he couldn’t quite meet his eyes. Even that felt like too much work, felt too telling._

_Nick crossed his arms against his chest, letting out a slight sigh. “Take the next two days off, yeah?” He didn’t wait for Harry to protest. “I’ll see you Thursday morning.”  
_  
So it was a Tuesday when Harry woke up to an empty flat with nothing to do, nowhere to go, and thoughts that refused to leave him alone. 

He tried to ignore them. He took too quick of a shower, scrubbing too roughly with the shower puff against his skin if only to keep his mind from drawing inward. He turned on the telly to a volume too loud for his thoughts to be heard, even as he went about making himself lunch in the other room. Usually the noise would annoy him or he’d worry about bothering the neighbors, but not today. Today he needed the noise, the annoying game show buzzes and the audience’s cheers to keep him in the present, as far away from his mind as he could get. 

Because his thoughts, they weren’t a great place at the moment. They were kicks to the gut bathed in greys, memories he hated to call such because “memory” sounded like such a happy term. 

These thoughts weren’t happy. They were things from his past he would pay a limb to forget, and it worried him how seriously he meant that expression. 

He turned up the volume on the TV another two notches. 

It didn’t help, the look Louis regarded him with when he came home that evening to a blaring television. The older boy had a crease so deep across the middle of his brow Harry thought it might stay. 

“Christ, did you wake up deaf this morning or something?” he wondered, not even bothering to ask before snagging the remote from Harry’s hands to lower the assaulting volume. 

Harry shook his head, a bit uselessly as he knew the question had been rhetorical, and let out a sigh that felt like relief. His ears were ringing. 

Louis frowned. “You alright?” 

Harry swallowed the snap response that was on the tip of his tongue as he noted the concern coating Louis’ blue eyes. He took a deep breath, glanced away nervously, before responding in a voice almost too quiet, “Been better.” 

A slight smile ran across Louis’ lips, but it wasn’t amused—relieved, maybe, Harry thought; relieved that he hadn’t gotten the same old  _just tired_  response Harry had given him for the past four weeks straight. 

“Yeah,” he agreed, speaking softly. Carefully. “You’re looking a bit worse for wear these days if I’m honest, Hazza.” 

Harry quirked up his lips in a quick smile of agreement and then jerked his eyes away from Louis. Looking at the older boy for too long felt like an invitation, and Harry wasn’t ready for that yet. He couldn’t lay out all his cards on the table, put himself on full display just yet. He just. No.  _Not yet._

Louis seemed to get it, though, because even though his eyes were sad when Harry looked back at him he didn’t ask him anymore about it or offer to talk again. He just asked with a different kind of smile, “I’m too lazy to mess up a meal tonight, so you for ordering in a couple pizzas?” 

And Louis didn’t ask him anymore over dinner or when he popped in a DVD ( _Peter Pan_ —the live-action version because, “It’s a comfort movie and I’ve had a shit day, okay,” he’d said with a shrug and didn’t elaborate. Harry suspected, though, that Louis wasn’t the one who needed any comforting at all) and sat too close on the couch, a blanket draped over both of them. 

That was something Louis had been doing lately—sitting too close when he really didn’t need to. They were the only two home, the couch was large enough to sit three, and yet their sides were flush together and he leaned into Harry in a way that maybe should have felt too intimate for friends, but Harry didn’t really mind it. The contact kept his thoughts away from the dark corners they’d been stuck in, anyway. 

It was a comfort, too, that contact. 

Louis sat low enough that he ended up with his head resting against Harry’s shoulder not even thirty minutes into the film, and the hair that brushed at Harry’s neck, the warm breaths that swept across his skin at steady intervals, made him unravel. He felt his muscles unclenching, his nerves relaxing, and his body unwinding as the minutes wore on. 

His stomach felt lighter, his chest not as tight as a hand met his beneath the blanket. Fingers found their way between his, filling the open spaces tentatively at first and then settling there when Harry didn’t fight away the touch. He welcomed it, rather, his fingers curling into the back of Louis’ hand in an encouraging sort of way. Louis squeezed right back, and Harry didn’t miss the little smile that sparked across the older boy’s lips. 

Louis rubbed mindless circles into the soft spots of Harry’s hand with his thumb, circling and circling throughout the film, willing him to let go of the thoughts that were plaguing him. The gentle touches were so much of a comfort, muting his mind so much that Harry dozed off like that—Louis using him as a pillow, their hands still intertwined beneath the blanket—before the film was even finished playing. 

He woke to the DVD player’s default screen sometime later. There was no longer a weight on his shoulder and the spaces between his fingers were empty once more and he half wondered if he hadn’t dreamed the entire thing, warm comforting breaths and all. 

But then blue eyes popped into his field of vision and a gentle smile stole his attention. 

“Hey,” Louis spoke, whisper-soft, like when you don’t want to fully wake a person from their slumber. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.” 

Harry blinked a few times, quick and trying to make sense of his surroundings, and shook his head. “Didn’t,” was all he said. 

Louis smiled sweetly, turning only to switch off the television. “I’m gonna turn in, though. You need anything?” 

His chest was already tighter, stomach heavy, body wound too taut, but he shook his head. 

“Okay. Get some rest, Haz,” Louis settled and hesitated by the side of the couch, his eyes jumping about Harry’s face. He looked like he was to say more but he sucked in a breath after a moment, smile too tight on his lips. “G’night, Harry,” he said at last and affectionately ruffled Harry’s hair before disappearing to his room. 

The night was too quiet and Harry’s thoughts were too loud and sleep was a distant wish after that. His eyes watched the sun rise before his lids cut out the light and exhaustion finally overpowered his mind. 

**

Wednesday wasn’t any better than Tuesday.

It was worse, actually. 

He woke up when Louis was getting ready for his morning class, just a few short hours after having finally gotten to sleep. At least, he assumed he’d slept some. It didn’t feel like it. 

He tried to fall back asleep for what must have been two hours, after which he finally forced himself off the sofa and into the shower. The pulsating water didn’t do a thing to calm his nerves, no matter how hot he turned it. His body was still wound too tight, his muscles too taut with worry, and his thoughts were too loud, so fucking loud. 

He dressed, bundled himself up with the intention of going out just to get  _out_ , hoping that maybe the sun and the commotion of the city streets would be enough to somehow calm him. But one look out the window and he groaned at the sight, the skies dark and pouring. The thought of walking the streets in the chilly showers didn’t sound like it would be any comfort, so he flipped on the telly and cranked up the volume just as he had done the day before. 

He was thankful when Zayn came back after his one class, Niall in tow. Niall was all boisterous laughs and unrestrained comments, demanding attention everywhere he went. Harry followed him gladly, thankful for having his attention drawn elsewhere, at least for a little while. 

But then Niall had class and Zayn had to run off to work, and Harry was left alone with his thoughts again. 

He knew why the memories were returning to him now, knew what had triggered last year’s events to replay in his mind like a bad film. But the film was all too real and the memories too fresh, still like open sores that refused to heal. 

By the time Louis got home in the afternoon, Harry was curled up on the couch, knees to his chest, with a blanket wrapped snugly around him like a protective tent to ward off any more troubles. It didn’t work. 

“You cold?” Louis asked with a cautious chuckle. 

“Freezing,” Harry replied because it seemed better than the truth.

The older boy only hummed, didn’t dig any deeper. Harry had kind of hoped that he would. 

Rather Louis disappeared from the living room entirely after that, only returning some time later with two cups of steaming tea. He set one aside and knelt down in front of Harry with the other. Holding it out for him, he smiled gently and said, “Drink up, Hazza. My mum’s always said it’s good for the soul.” 

 _Mine too_ , Harry thought but extinguished the thought as his stomach somersaulted with upset. He accepted the proffered tea, though, a weak smile flickering across his lips. 

And the tea soothed him for a while that Wednesday afternoon, its warmth spreading through his chest with every sip. But tea like this, warm and calm on a dreary afternoon, also pulled his mind back to places he didn’t want to remember and every sip reminded him of home. 

He only drank half. 

Louis frowned, but he didn’t say anything about it when he collected up their cups to wash. Again, Harry had kind of hoped that he would. 

Harry spent the rest of the afternoon and all evening hoping, hoping for Louis to step in and say something again, ask him if he were okay and then continue to pester him until Harry would finally give him an honest response. Because with his thoughts too loud and the knot in his chest too tight and the weight in his stomach too heavy and  _home home home_  stuck in the back of his mind, Harry thought the only way to make it all stop might be to let it all out. 

But they turned on a shitty reality program while Louis worked on an essay, and Louis didn’t ask Harry anything and Harry didn’t speak up. 

When Zayn got home all three of them piled into the kitchen to heat up some leftover take-away, and they sat at the table and talked over their food and laughed between bites. But neither Louis nor Zayn asked Harry if he were all right, and Harry didn’t speak up. 

Zayn put on an album by some group Harry had never heard of afterward, letting the flowing guitar leads and lazy tempos fill the silent spots of the flat. It was an easy listen, something soft and instrumental as background noise as both Zayn and Louis set up camp for the rest of the evening with laptops, textbooks, and notes spread out all around them. Harry had taken a book from one of Zayn’s many crates ( _Paper Towns_ , this one was) and curled up in the armchair, vainly attempting to focus on the story. But his mind never fully wrapped around the words on the pages and no one seemed to notice or ask if everything was okay, and Harry didn’t speak up. 

It was around eleven when Zayn retreated to his room, study materials tucked under his arm. He bid them both goodnight and the smile he gave Harry was sadder than usual—worried, maybe—but he didn’t say anything more, and Harry didn’t speak up. 

Not much later, Louis closed his laptop and his textbooks and started to collect his many notes and papers. He piled it all together precariously and hesitated on his way out of the living room, blue finding green like a pair of magnets. 

“You gonna be okay to head back to work tomorrow?” he asked, skating around what he really meant. 

But the question wasn’t an invitation, and Harry only smiled shortly and responded, “Should be, yeah.” 

Louis nodded, smiled, unconvinced. “Good,” he said. “Good.” 

And the older boy wished him a good night and told him to get some rest, and he didn’t ruffle Harry’s curls on the way out because his hands were full. He went to bed, and Harry didn’t speak up. 

Harry tried to swallow the words and shove away the thoughts, but they were so loud they scared away slumber when he finally got situated on the sofa. He tossed and he turned and he pulled the blankets up to his chin and then kicked them off only to bring them right back up again. It felt like a pointless battle until, at last, somewhere between two and three in the morning, sleep and he met halfway. 

But then. 

Then it was four in the morning and Harry was throwing back the blankets and curling his legs to his chest and burying his face into his pillow. His mind was racing, racing, racing, all too fast and all too loud and he couldn’t make it  _stop_. 

His hands were slick with sweat and his shirt was damp, his breaths shallow and ragged as he tried to make sense of reality. But reality was too hazy, too mixed with his thoughts, drowned out by a nightmare that was really only a revived memory. He knew it was a memory, just a figment of the past, but the blow to his gut felt all too real and his body felt sore, freshly bruised, even though he knew it was all in his head. 

But his hands were still shaking, and minutes later his breathing still hadn’t slowed. His heart was pounding so aggressively, it was the only thing he could hear. 

He needed to—he needed to do something. 

He needed—

He needed someone. 

It only took another minute before he was pushing open the door to Louis’ bedroom with a gentle knock and a soft, “Lou?” 

That nighttime silence met him, quiet except for the hum of the heater and buzz of the fridge in the kitchen and the muted exhales as Louis slept. 

He tried another rap on the door, raised his voice above a whisper, “Lou?” 

The muted exhales cut off, replaced by a sharp intake of air and some shifting of limbs against sheets, quiet and confused and reaching for understanding. Harry could just make out the outline of a head lifting from the pillows, angled toward him in the doorway. “Harry?” Louis asked, sounding bewildered in a cracking voice, “What’s the matter?” 

And suddenly Harry was all too aware of the time, guilt running down his throat, and how unwarranted this was. But his heart was still pounding, hammering in his chest with no signs of slowing and it urged him to part his lips and finally speak up. 

“I’m… I know it’s late, but could we… You said we could talk?” He let out a shaky breath, words wavering, and sniffed once. 

It must have been enough, though, because Louis shoved himself up in bed and moved over until there was an empty space beside him on the bed. He patted the mattress, and that was all the invitation Harry needed. 

The younger boy didn’t even get out a word before he was curled into Louis with tears finally falling and everything welled up into a lump in his throat. He gulped thickly, once, twice, three times, and then his words were running free. 

Louis listened as Harry explained in broken pieces everything that had happened, how he’d always known he was different than the other boys at school and how last year he had finally decided to just say it, to come out, to be himself because he was tired of keeping it in.

He listened when Harry recounted everything after, how the few friends he’d had cut him out of their lives like it was nothing, how at first he’d just received a few sneers from some of the more traditionally raised kids. He thought it would have been fine. It was the 21st century anyway; who the fuck cares who’s sleeping together? What’s it any care to anyone else whom you like or love? 

But people cared. 

People all over his town, people he didn’t even know, cared. Everyone had an opinion in his small little town, and everyone had made theirs known. 

The sneers multiplied at school, in the hallways, on the walk home. Hits were thrown out of blind fear. Slurs grew commonplace. He went home each day with a new set of bruises, a few visible, the rest just harsh and berating and aching in his chest, in his gut, in his mind. 

His step-dad regarded him with wary eyes, looking at him like he was something to be fixed. His mother, his  _mum_ , looked at him with sad, pitying eyes, convinced it was just a phase. “ _You’ll grow out of it_ ,” she’d say. 

And it was awful those first few months, April and May making Harry wish for the summer hols more than ever. And he thought that maybe, maybe the summer would heal the wounds, fix things up. He thought his classmates would move on to something else. He thought they’d forget; he’d just be old news.

But classes resumed in the fall, and things didn’t change. 

People still told him he was wrong, likened him to a sinner, drowned him in slurs and whispered insults, and his step-dad stopped talking to him just to talk and didn’t offer to do his wash or pay for his lunch and his mum kept her distance and stopped calling him to meals and kissing him goodnight and he felt more alone sitting beside his parents than he did alone in his room. 

It got to a point where he no longer felt safe at school and he didn’t feel welcomed at home and nobody  _cared_  and nobody protested when he packed up a bag and left. 

Nobody came looking for him, nobody called his phone or sent a text or asked if he was okay. 

And so it was September and Harry had sold a few of his things and used what little money he had to get as far away as he could. He ended up in a city nearly three hours from home and was out of money and resources by the time October turned to November, spending most nights on park benches and walking the streets during the day because he had nowhere to go and knew no one else in the city and he was seventeen and on his own because nobody cared. 

Harry was still stammering through his past, and Louis continued to listen as the night wore on, arms wrapped around the younger boy in hopes of calming him. 

Harry cried more than he thought he could that night. He cried and he cried and part of him didn’t want to stop because he was crumbling and everything he had kept inside for so long was tumbling out in choked sobs and broken phrases and Louis was holding him and telling him  _it’s okay, you’re okay_  and he believed him because his chest hadn’t felt this loose or his stomach this light or his mind this clear in months. 

It was when Louis was wiping away the last of Harry’s tears, sometime near five in the morning, when his sobs had fallen silent and his shoulders had stopped shaking and he could finally breathe, when their lips met. 

It was light, like it was barely even there at all and Harry half wondered if he’d imagined it. 

But there it was, the weight of Louis’ lips upon his own, light and comforting and still in the darkness. He wondered if it was only that—a kiss of comfort—but when he tilted his head just so, Louis didn’t pull away; he followed. It was a kiss and it was light and it was too short, but Harry pulled away with glistening eyes after a moment just long enough and couldn’t help but think that was exactly how a first kiss should be. 

A hand ran through Harry’s curls and a set of eyes he knew were blue found his in the darkness. He swore he could see Louis smiling, soft as it was. 

With everything said and done, the tears wiped away and his skin raw as his words, Louis pulled the blankets up over both of them and eased down into the mattress, taking Harry with him. “Get some rest, Haz,” he said at last, voice smooth against the night. 

Harry nodded wordlessly and settled in beside Louis, his hand searching blindly for a friend beneath the blankets. Fingers met his within seconds, intertwining and squeezing, tight and secure and caring with a silent promise. 

Lips grazed just against his temple after a moment, hesitant but there, and for the first time in months Harry fell asleep easily with the knowledge that someone in the world cared. 

**

They woke up beside each other the following morning but barely touching. The bed’s large enough. But Louis’ toes curled just around Harry’s as he woke and fingers brushed against his arm and a smile sparked to life, and blue found green so naturally in the morning sun that he knew everything would be okay. 

It was a Thursday and Harry didn’t wake up on the sofa. 

If Zayn noticed, he didn’t say a word. 

~*~


	14. Who's Counting: Alright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another 10k chapter jfc why. But hi, here we are, this chapter is exclusively for your sweet tooth and I sincerely hope you enjoy it. :)

  
It was Thursday afternoon, and Louis was finding it hard to get through his lunch with the stack of words that were flooding his throat. Usually he didn’t mind when Niall dominated the conversation; he was thankful for it, most of the time.   
  
But today, today was different.   
  
Louis had so much he wanted— _needed_ —to share, to get out, that it was almost physically hurting him to hold it all in, while listening to Niall recount the mundane lecture he’d sat through that morning. He waited, though, trying to listen as he picked through his sub and nodded along to the conversation.   
  
That is, until it got to be too much.   
  
Niall was still jabbering on when Louis blurted out, rather unceremoniously, “I kissed Harry.”   
  
That cut Niall off very quickly. The blonde stilled his words midsentence, paused with his meal, his eyes shifting across the table to stare at Louis, wide and blank. “Sorry?”   
  
“You  _what_?” Zayn echoed, looking equally as surprised.   
  
“I, Harry,” Louis reiterated—horribly—suddenly too aware of himself and his voice and the way his cheeks were darkening. He swallowed thickly, averting his eyes. “We kissed,” he said again and shrugged, picking up his soda like it wasn’t a big deal.  _It isn’t._  
  
“Excuse me?” Niall hissed, leaning in over the table like it was a huge development. A huge secret.  _It isn’t._  
  
But Zayn seemed to think it was just as big of deal, wondering without pause, “Why didn’t I know about this?”  
  
“When did this happen?” Niall continued. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”   
  
“Because it just happened last night,” Louis answered as soon as he could get a word in. “Harry came in during the night and he was…” he trailed off to sigh, slumping back in his chair, uncertain of what was even his to tell. “He told me what happened, you know? Like, before. Before he… became homeless, and he was wrecked and it was late and it just. It just sort of happened, you know?”   
  
He shrugged again and made to continue, but Zayn got there before he could. “So wait, last night… Is that why Harry wasn’t on the couch this morning?”   
  
Niall’s eyes seemed to bulge out of his head. “YOU TWO—”   
  
“ _No_ ,” Louis stopped his friend before he could even get out the entire question. “Christ, Niall, no, it was just a kiss, okay?”   
  
“But he wasn’t on the couch!” Niall nearly shouted, loud enough that a few other patrons glanced their way.   
  
“Because it was, like, five in the morning and I wasn’t about to kick him to the couch,” Louis explained and tried not to think about how absolutely broken Harry had looked earlier that morning, long before the sun had risen. He tried not to think about the sobs that had wracked through the younger boy’s body or all of the tears that completely soaked the chest of his nightshirt. He tried not to think about it, but there it was.   
  
“You could have, though,” Niall pointed out, drawing Louis back to the present. “You could have told him to go get some rest, sent him on his way, but you didn’t.”   
  
“Don’t even try to tell us that’s common courtesy, Lou,” Zayn added, a knowing glint in his eyes.   
  
Louis folded his arms against his chest and tried to think up some sort of way to spin this so that it didn’t seem so… so monumental. But the more he thought about it, the more he found he didn’t want to put up a fight.   
  
Green flashed to the forefront of his mind and his stomach fluttered, and Louis knew there really wasn’t even a point. He didn’t want to disprove it because, he finally admitted to himself that afternoon, he couldn’t.   
  
“So what happened this morning?” Niall urged him on after a moment, smiling coyly.   
  
But that was also the point when Louis let out a sigh, frowning. “Nothing.”   
  
Both of the boys across the table furrowed their brows at him, echoing, “Nothing?”   
  
“Not a thing,” Louis clarified with a shake of his head. “I mean, he was still there and everything, but we didn’t—nothing happened. I don’t know, it was alright at first, but then it was like he fully woke up and then it was all stammered words and blushes and mad rushing like he couldn’t get out of there fast enough.” He frowned again, trying to keep the slight hurt from his words when he spoke again, softer, “It was all a bit awkward, wasn’t it?”   
  
Niall chuckled, though, grinning as he finished up his meal.   
  
“Sorry?” Louis wondered, feeling like he’d missed something.  
  
The blonde just shook his head, amusement shining from every feature. “Nervous little fuck, isn’t he?”   
  
Zayn smirked at that, but Louis only frowned. “Yeah, but—”  
  
“But it’s  _Harry_ , mate,” Zayn interrupted, emphasizing the boy’s name like it explained everything.   
  
It didn’t, but at the same time it kind of did.   
  
**  
  
“Knew you were soft on the boy,” Niall stated gently, smirking as they exited the restaurant.   
  
“Oh shut it,” Louis tried, but his blush kind of undermined his words.   
  
The blonde just grinned even wider. “You’re a bloody idiot, you know that?”  
  
Louis sighed, looking down as he did up the zip on his jacket. He thought about refuting it, but really? “Yeah, I know.”   
  
Niall laughed, shaking his head fondly, and before parting ways for the afternoon, smacked a sloppy kiss to Louis’ cheek. He was already halfway down the block, in step with Zayn, when he shouted back, “Love ya, you fool!”   
  
**  
  
Harry wasn’t home when Louis finished with classes.   
  
He hadn’t expected him to be there, of course, not since the younger boy had gotten that job with Josh.   
  
It was weird, though, because Louis had grown so used to seeing the curly-haired boy on the sofa nearly every time he came home; it still threw him off when the boy was nowhere in sight. And he knew where Harry was, he knew he was just at work, but it still sent a wave of uncertainty washing through him.   
  
It had been over two months now, and it felt normal. It felt right. It felt like it fit whenever Harry was there. But more often than not Louis found himself waking up with a hint of doubt, a taste of anxiety every morning when he finally walked into the living room.   
  
And it was foolish, really. It was foolish because Harry was more at ease, he could tell. Harry was settling in and latching on and he had a key and all, but Louis was never sure.   
  
It was foolish because he never woke up worrying that maybe Zayn had snuck out during the night—but that was always the thought with Harry. It was foolish, he knew it was, but things were different with Harry.   
  
Everything was different with Harry.   
  
Louis always felt a little happier whenever Zayn came home, of course. But the relief that coursed through his veins when Harry came home, and the way his attention would be torn from whatever he was doing because that boy, somehow, always seemed more important—like if Louis hesitated, took a moment too long, he might lose out entirely—was something completely different. It was different, with Harry.   
  
And it was especially different that evening when Louis heard Harry come home.   
  
See, that’s the thing. Louis could even tell when it was Harry and not Zayn, even holed up in his room with music playing a bit too loudly. Zayn always had a lot of keys and charms on his key ring that would jingle and jangle as soon as he came in the door, always loud, always there, always alerting his presence with their metallic greeting. Harry’s key was lone on its ring, and he always entered the flat quietly, always soft and understated, never wanting to be a bother.   
  
That night it was as soft as any other, just the familiar click in the lock and the stick when the door was closed and little else. It was somehow still enough to bring Louis to his doorway. He stepped just outside of it, one step into the hall, just far enough out to see the entry to the flat.   
  
Harry was there, his back turned at the moment as he shrugged off his coat and hung it on the rack. Though as he turned around to take a few strides toward the kitchen, he stopped, green catching blue because  _of course._  
  
“Hi,” Louis greeted after a beat, spoken like a question. He allowed himself a cautious curve of a smile but nothing more. He wasn’t sure, anyway; it was always so different with Harry.   
  
The younger boy appeared shocked at first, unmoving by the door, a blush blossoming like flowers across his cheeks. But after a moment, he offered a murmured, “Hi.”   
  
His voice was gentle enough that Louis felt his shoulders sag with something like relief, and he let a proper smile fall into place across his lips. He breathed a bit easier, but he had to stop the many questions that were looming just on the tip of his tongue. He let one go, though, one without much prying. “Work alright today?”   
  
Harry noticeably relaxed, shoulders dropping. “Yeah,” he said, even managing a slight smile, “yeah, work was fine.”   
  
“Good.” Louis smiled, comfortable and right, but hesitated before continuing, “Are… Are we alright?”   
  
 _After last night?_ hung in the air.   
  
Any more tension in the younger boy seemed to drain entirely after that. His features softened; the line that had creased his brow smoothed out, the hesitance left his eyes, leaving them bright and open. Exposed.   
  
Harry made to say something but then quickly clamped his mouth shut, deciding against it, rethinking it, rewording it before letting it go. “I think we’re alright,” he said eventually, an easier smile finding its home at the corners of his mouth. But a moment later that smile twitched, and he wondered, soft and uncertain, “Aren’t we?”   
  
Louis’ lungs felt empty with his exhale, limp and relieved. He smiled—grinned, rather—broad and grand and perhaps too wide, but it felt right. “Yeah,” he agreed, his heart hammering, stomach fluttering. “I think we’re alright, Haz. I think we’re just fine.”   
  
The older boy couldn’t remember ever seeing the younger boy smile quite so brightly.   
  
**  
  
It was the following Sunday night when Zayn was waiting for him.   
  
Louis was returning from the bathroom, ready to turn in, when he found his best mate curled up at the head of his bed. He was sitting with his legs crisscrossed, flipping through the pages of a book that had been sitting on the bedside table for far too long, and looking perfectly at peace. It wasn’t unusual by any means, for one of them to cross over into the other’s territory so naturally, but it was usually a triggered act—one that usually involved a lot of questions and too long discussions.   
  
So Louis prepared himself as he entered the room, taking a deep breath as he pushed the door shut behind him. “What’s up?”   
  
Zayn glanced up from the book, eyeing Louis from behind his glasses. “Do I need a reason to be here?” he countered.  
  
“Course not,” Louis assured him, smiling as he climbed into bed, “but you usually have one.”   
  
“Like I can’t just want to catch up with my favorite roommate?”  
  
“On a Sunday night?”   
  
“No better time than now, Lou.”  
  
“Zayn.”   
  
“Okay, fine,  _fine_ ,” the darker-haired boy groaned, exasperated as he put the book back on the table and turned back to Louis. His brow was dipped the way it always was when something was on his mind, weighed with concern, but his brown eyes were determined when they landed on Louis, focused and concentrated.   
  
It had the older boy’s blood running cold. “Zayn,” he asked, words sticking in his throat, “what’s the matter?”   
  
But Zayn shook his head as though to say  _nothing bad, stop worrying_ , though he still worried his lower lip before speaking. “I just… Harry told you, right? About what happened with him before?”   
  
“Oh.”   
  
“And I don’t want you to, like, betray his trust,” Zayn was quick to say, “but maybe you could give me the spark notes version? Just, you know, tell me if he murdered someone so I know if I should be worried about harboring a fugitive. I mean I figure he’s going to be here a while, right, so that’s probably something I should be aware of, innit? Just in case.”   
  
Louis let out a gentle laugh as he burrowed deeper beneath his sheets, settling in. “There’s no history of murders or deathly accidents,” he assured his friend. “The boy has a clean record.”   
  
Zayn breathed a dramatic sigh of relief.   
  
“The abridged version though,” Louis continued, perching himself up on an elbow, “includes a small town and a family that wasn’t ready for a boy to come out.” He frowned lopsidedly, hoping that was enough of an answer but also wishing it weren’t even a thing to share.   
  
“Fuck…” the other boy breathed out and ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands. He looked downtrodden at first, his brow furrowed, eyes wide as they searched the bedspread like maybe it would explain something more. He stayed like that for a few moments, looking at a loss, calculating, and then, “Did they—”   
  
But he stopped, shaking his head. When he started up again, his tone was laced with a note of defense and a glare crossed his features as he looked back to Louis. “Did his parents kick him out?” he asked, softer, like he didn’t want anyone to hear.   
  
“No,” Louis answered, because they hadn’t, not technically. “But I think not feeling welcomed is almost worse.”   
  
Zayn nodded once and then went quiet, and Louis knew they weren’t done, but he let the silence wear on between them. He settled in against his pillows in the moments to come but stayed on his side, eyes searching Zayn as he waited for the younger man to process it all, even though he hadn’t told him the most of it. But, Louis reasoned, it really wasn’t his story to tell.   
  
It was some time later when Zayn finally spoke again, pulling Louis from the daze he had fallen into.   
  
“I’m glad you found him, Lou,” was all he said, words quiet and small.   
  
“I didn’t find him,” Louis replied with an unsure laugh, because he hadn’t. It was just a chance meeting, an interaction between strangers that wasn’t supposed to last but somehow did.   
  
Zayn shook his head, a small smile curling his lips. “But you did, in a way,” he insisted. “You found him when no one else was looking.”   
  
Louis laughed, sleepy and gentle. “You make it sound like he’s a lost dog, Zayn.”   
  
“No.” Zayn shook his head again, frowning. “Just a lost boy who wanted to find a home.”   
  
Their eyes met then, and Louis didn’t need Zayn to say any more. The smile on his lips was enough, simple and calm, knowing with a quirk in the corner. And he was right; all Harry really wanted was to be found, and Louis was the first one to reach out when nobody else would.   
  
And maybe that didn’t really mean a thing. Maybe it was just happenstance, a stroke of chance, but then again, maybe it wasn’t. Maybe there was a reason, a reason that Harry kept coming back, a reason that he stayed, a reason that they were where they were.   
  
Maybe there was and maybe there wasn’t.   
  
But either way, Zayn was right and Louis knew that. It made his heart feel too big for its cavity, too large in his chest, and he had to ward off a rising blush. But all the same he still told Zayn a while later, soft in the night, “Thanks.” He caught his friend’s eyes then and smiled, just enough. “For, you know, letting him stay.”   
  
“Mate,” Zayn snorted, though it didn’t hold any vigor, “don’t think you would’ve let me say no.”   
  
“Ugh,” Louis groaned as he sank onto his back and scrubbed a hand down his face. “You’re making it sound like I forced you.”   
  
“No, no, you didn’t.” Zayn pried Louis’ hands from his face and peered at him with a wide smile. “You really didn’t, Lou, promise.”   
  
“Yeah?”   
  
“Yeah. Besides,” Zayn grinned with a shrug, “just glad I didn’t break up whatever’s happening with the two of you too soon.”   
  
“Ohhhh, so  _that’s_  what you wanted to talk about, you little shit,” the older boy snickered into his pillow.   
  
Zayn let out a laugh, holding up his hands in defense. “Hey, you can’t blame me for being curious!”  
  
“I can, and I will.”  
  
“Or,” Zayn leaned in a little closer, “you can just tell me what exactly ’s happening.”  
  
Louis tried to will away the blush that flooded his cheeks in response because  _really?_ But he sighed into the blankets, hiding a slight frown. “I’m not sure if there’s really anything for you to be curious about, though.”   
  
Zayn lifted a brow.   
  
Louis only shrugged, though the movement went unnoticed against the mattress. “I just.” He shook his head. “I don’t know.”   
  
“Lou.” Zayn snorted. “You two were cuddling all through  _Die Hard_  the other night. Who the fuck cuddles during  _Die Hard_?”   
  
Louis’ cheeks roared with a blush, but. “We cuddled some before the other day, too,” he murmured.   
  
“Mhm,” Zayn hummed with a smile that seemed to say a lot more than his words.   
  
Their eyes locked and they shared a silent conversation like that, all squinting eyes and moving brows, until Louis let out a frustrated, “ _What?_ ”   
  
The darker-haired boy only shook his head again, smiling to himself. “Nothing, nothing,” he said.   
  
“Zayn.”   
  
“Don’t worry about it.”   
  
“ _Zayn._ ”   
  
“Heart eyes, Louis,” was all Zayn said before pressing a kiss to Louis’ forehead and maneuvering from the bed.   
  
He was already at the door when Louis called after him, “What does that even  _mean_?”   
  
Zayn just grinned. “Let me know when you figure it out. ‘Night, babes.”   
  
Louis yelled another question as Zayn left, but his friend was already closing the door with a cackling bout of laughter. With an indignant huff, Louis settled back against his pillows again and tried not to think about whatever Zayn might have meant. But try as he might, a set of light green eyes haunted his dreams all night long.   
  
**  
  
Louis figured it out a few days later.   
  
It was Wednesday and Louis kept catching Harry looking at him. All throughout a rousing game of Rummy (Harry lost all but one round), all throughout two episodes of SpongeBob (which, alright), all throughout dinner (at McDonald’s, so really there were far more interesting things for the boy to pay attention to), and all throughout the walk home (and they certainly weren’t the only people on the pavement).   
  
Louis had asked, “What?” or, “Do I’ve got food on my cheek or something?” a few times, and Harry would blush and shake his head, say it was nothing and look away, only to flit his gaze back a handful of seconds later.   
  
It was terribly infuriating, in a way, but simultaneously endearing.   
  
“You’re staring, Haz,” Louis finally murmured on their way to the flat, soft and embarrassed through a bitten back smile.   
  
Harry’s cheeks flamed and he looked away, pointedly. “Sorry,” he nearly chirped and shoved his hands into the pockets of the lighter jacket he had borrowed from Louis. The younger boy had been insistent on wearing the navy coat all up through April, but Louis had forced him into something lighter. It was Spring, anyhow. Harry had looked reluctant to put the navy coat away in the closet, though. If Louis didn’t know any better, he might have thought the boy had looked sad.  _But it’s just a coat_ , he’d laughed.   
  
Shaking the memory away with a smile, Louis spared a glance in Harry’s direction now. This time, though, the boy had his eyes trained on the ground in front of them. It was clearly forced, and it most certainly was not adorable.   
  
“Harry,” the older boy choked out in a laugh.   
  
“I didn’t mean to stare,” Harry replied, his eyes still focused on the pavement.   
  
“You’ve been doing it all evening.”   
  
The blush flared all the way to the tips of Harry’s ears. “I didn’t realize I was.”   
  
“‘M afraid you haven’t been very sly about it, goofball,” Louis told him and knocked their shoulders together as they walked.   
  
Harry blushed an even deeper shade of rose, and it had Louis biting back another grin because, admittedly, he rather liked making the younger boy blush.   
  
It was too much, honestly, the way Harry was being so  _obvious_  and how the heart eyes Zayn had mentioned before suddenly made  _so_  much sense and it had Louis holding out his hand between their waists before he even realized what he was doing.   
  
Harry eyed it with an uncertain glance.   
  
“Well c’mon,” Louis demanded and waggled his fingers a bit in encouragement. “Don’t leave me hanging here, Harry.”   
  
Fingers found their way between Louis’ a moment later, hesitant but there. They didn’t quite close the grip, like they were afraid to really even touch. But Louis squeezed Harry’s hand and those fingers tightened their grip then, large and enveloping and maybe a little more certain.   
  
Louis smiled, small and secretive, as they continued walking, hands joined between them. He tried not to think about how Harry’s hands were so much larger than his own, how those fingers dwarfed his in comparison, or how the younger boy kept stealing even more frequent glances his way in the minutes to follow. “This okay?” he eventually wondered, tightening his hand around Harry’s for clarification.   
  
He turned to look at the younger boy and green met blue with what glimmered like a smile. Harry nodded, his lower lip held snug between his teeth. “Yeah,” he agreed. “More than okay.”   
  
“Good.” Louis grinned. “Good.”   
  
Harry just grinned a little wider, more than a little distracting, even out of the corner of Louis’ eye.   
  
“What?” the older boy had to ask, laughing only because Harry was literally beaming.   
  
“Nothing,” Harry replied, though he couldn’t seem to shake his smile or the blush that still clung in a rosy tint across his cheeks. He looked down for a moment, bright eyes skirting across the ground and then shooting upward, jumping from face to face of passersby. His smile only seemed to grow. “I’ve just…” He shook his head, shaking out his fringe and then swooshing it back across his forehead with his free hand. The smile didn’t leave, but it was muted then, soft like a secret, when he finally explained in a quiet voice, “I’ve never done this before.”   
  
Louis furrowed his brow. “What?” he asked again, flabbergasted. “ _This_?”   
  
“Yeah, holding hands and, erm, whatever. In public, I mean,” Harry clarified and looked away as his smile fell into a frown. “I couldn’t, not really. Not after I had… y’know. I couldn’t do anything like this with the way things were back, um.” He hesitated, let out a heavy sigh. “Back home.”   
  
Louis squeezed Harry’s hand, just enough to gain his attention. “Not everyone’s like that, Harry. You know that, right?”   
  
The younger boy nodded. “I know,” he said, but he didn’t look very convinced.   
  
“I’m sorry you had to go through that—”  
  
“Lou, it’s okay.”   
  
“No, it’s not,” Louis’ voice hardened a little, but not enough to draw any attention as they walked. “And I’m sorry you had to experience that.”   
  
Harry only shrugged. A smile ghosted his lips again, but this one was out of place—too light, too fleeting, never reaching his eyes. It was as wrong as his words that followed, “Just the luck of the draw, yeah?”  
  
Louis wanted to disagree. He wanted to argue, to try and convince the younger boy that  _no, it’s not just down to the luck of the draw_ , to show him that that’s not how things work, not how things  _should_  work. But he knew it would be of little use right then. It would take more than a few words, more than one conversation, more than a simple holding of hands on a public street, to convince the boy that the whole world wasn’t nearly as unkind as his past.   
  
**  
  
Harry had just come back from brushing his teeth when Louis figured things out a bit more.   
  
The older boy was perched on the end of the sofa, waiting for Harry to return. His fingers were toying with the corner of the blanket he had spread out for him, and his mind was running, skipping through the past week in flashes of iridescent green and blushing cheeks, too wide grins and bashful laughs, uncertain touches and stomachs skittering with far too many butterflies.   
  
It was a weird feeling, this whole beating around the bush again like he would have in primary school.   
  
He remembered how he and Eleanor had gotten together a couple years before. Things had always been straightforward with them. A mutual friend had set them up and there had been no questionable glances or uncertain ground; she liked him, he liked her, and it worked. For so long, it had worked, just like that.   
  
Before Eleanor, there had been a handful of others, but nothing too serious. There had been a girl named Jamie, and everything they had was purely physical. They were in their first year of university and exploring the newfound freedom, testing the limits. They never held hands or walked each other home or set up dates. It had been a bit of fun. It was simple.   
  
There was Ronnie, on and off during their last year of college. They had met at a party, stumbled into each other, and spent the rest of the night snogging in a closet. He hadn’t been the first boy Louis had ever fancied, but he had been the first in so many other ways. But Louis didn’t quite know who he was yet, and Ronnie wasn’t ready for his parents to know, and they had kept things quiet. They never kissed in public or blushed when the other was staring. That wasn’t them, that wasn’t how they worked. They didn’t know what they wanted in the long haul, but they knew what they wanted then, and they hadn’t been shy about it.   
  
But with Harry, every look was shy. Every move was tentative, almost afraid, and it was such a strong change from everything before that Louis felt just as hesitant and uncertain with every advance. It was nerve-wracking but exhilarating all at once, like an intricate game of chess; one poor move and he could spoil it all.   
  
So when Harry came padding back into the living room that night with an easy grin, clad in only his pants and a loose white tee, Louis’ heart sped up in anticipation.   
  
“All yours,” Harry said in lieu of greeting.   
  
“Awesome, thanks,” Louis replied, mirroring Harry’s smile, but he didn’t move from his perch on the arm of the sofa. Rather he stayed, sitting with his head tilted as he eyed Harry for a few moments, calculating and silent.   
  
He stared long enough that Harry eventually asked, letting out a nervous rumble of laughter, “What is it?”   
  
“Nothing.” Louis shook his head. “You work early again tomorrow, yeah?”   
  
Harry furrowed his brow but nodded. “Nick wants me in by seven-thirty.”   
  
“I should probably let you get some sleep then, huh?” Louis smiled, tiny and hushed.   
  
The younger boy’s cheek dented with a dimple. “Guess so,” he agreed.   
  
But Louis didn’t move from the sofa’s arm and Harry didn’t make a move toward it. They stayed where they were and didn’t say a word, but Louis’ smile grew into a grin and their eyes never parted, even as the seconds wore on into a minute and then into two, until—  
  
“C’mere,” Louis murmured, beckoning Harry over.   
  
The younger boy obliged after a moment, hesitant, and took the few steps necessary to close the space between them. But it wasn’t close enough, and Louis pulled him closer with a tug on the forearm and a gentle laugh. Harry stumbled after the tug until he was slotted between Louis’ legs, where the older boy still sat perched on the edge of the sofa.   
  
Louis spread his legs just enough for Harry to fit between them, and with Harry’s height he had to angle his head upward just to catch the younger boy’s eyes, but he didn’t really mind it. Up this close, in the dim light of the living room, Harry’s eyes shone a darker jade than anywhere else, and Louis felt his stomach dropping.   
  
Clearing his throat, Louis dropped his gaze and busied himself with picking up Harry’s hands. He intertwined their fingers as he asked, offhandedly, “You enjoying work there, at the shop?”   
  
He didn’t look up to see Harry’s reaction, to see if Harry looked confused or to see if he were biting back a grin or fighting off a blush. But it took a moment for Harry to respond, “Yeah. Love it, really. I’m, erm—I’m going to owe Josh for a while.”   
  
“Oh,” Louis said through a chuckle. “Don’t worry about that. Josh hated the guy who worked there before you. Calling you in was his way to avoid another shitty coworker, really.”   
  
Harry laughed, low and gentle, barely leaving his throat. “Yeah?” he wondered, his fingers brushing against Louis’ in a way that let him know the younger boy was watching him, intent and curious.   
  
But Louis still didn’t look up, even as he hummed his agreement. “I’m proud of you, though,” he added quietly and ran a thumb across Harry’s knuckles. “I really am, Haz.”   
  
“For what?”   
  
Louis looked up that time, and when he did he caught a glimpse of that wrecked boy who had sat at his kitchen table back in December, looking small and unable to meet anyone’s eyes—not because he was afraid, but because he didn’t think he deserved to. And right then, there in the living room of the flat nearly four months later, that boy was showing himself again, small and timid and self-conscious. He had grown so much, but he didn’t even know it, and that hurt.   
  
It hurt enough that Louis dropped one of Harry’s hands just to bring his own upward to cup the younger boy’s jaw. Gently, he nudged Harry’s chin until blue could meet green, and when it did it held it, unyielding.   
  
“Hey,” Louis said, just harsh enough to keep Harry’s attention. “Don’t be like that. There’s a lot for you to be proud of.”   
  
But Harry didn’t believe him, that much was obvious.   
  
So Louis told him. He named every thing Harry had done since they had met, every little thing he had learned about Harry that had surprised him, had impressed him, had made him ridiculously proud, from getting a job to even deciding to pick up and leave home at seventeen. It was a fragmented list with gaps that Louis would probably think to fill later that night while trying to sleep, but it was enough for Harry’s eyes to glisten in the dim light by the end of it.   
  
“Thank you,” the younger boy said after a moment, and Louis knew what he meant.   
  
“You’re welcome,” Louis replied and smiled, his hand still cupping Harry’s cheek. “Now, you done putting yourself down?”   
  
Harry nodded.   
  
“Good. I don’t like it when you’re hard on yourself. So don’t do that, alright?”   
  
The younger boy spared a brighter smile then, warm and broken with a watery laugh. “Alright,” he agreed.   
  
“And I like it when you smile,” Louis added, grinning now. “So do that more for me, alright?”   
  
His dimple reappeared, blemishing his cheek. “Alright,” he agreed once more.   
  
“And,” Louis started, his thumb ghosting across Harry’s cheeks, eyes skirting across the features as he spoke low, whisper-soft, “I’m going to kiss you now, alright?”   
  
Blue bounced to green then, finding them hooded as Harry nodded against the curve of Louis’ hand. His eyes dropped toward Louis’ mouth for a split second and then flew back upward in a fleeting motion. “Alright,” he agreed for a third time.   
  
“Alright,” Louis echoed, just before leaning forward to brush his lips against Harry’s in what felt like a question. Harry answered by pressing back, gentle but persistent—welcoming, wanting.   
  
It was enough of a response, enough for Louis to draw back and return at a better angle, pulling Harry’s lower lip between both of his. He didn’t tug, he didn’t use teeth, he didn’t even think about his tongue, because he didn’t want to rush this kiss.   
  
He didn’t need to rush it.   
  
Everything with Harry might have been shy and tentative, but that’s the thing. Everything with Harry just came so gently, cascading like honey, warm and slow. It wasn’t a bad thing, not even a little. Sweet things just take a little more time.   
  
And Louis didn’t mind the leisure pace that night as he brought their lips together again. He could feel the younger boy’s cheek heating up beneath his palm, could feel the uncertainty as Harry placed his lips, like he still wasn’t quite sure about this whole kissing thing. It might have thrown Louis off, if it were anyone else, but this was Harry and that somehow made everything alright.   
  
As slow as everything was, a set of large hands found their way to rest on Louis’ waist in the midst of it all. They just ghosted his sides at first, hesitant to touch, afraid to settle, but then they were falling into place with a solid weight just above his hips, fingers spread wide as they fanned onto his back.   
  
Louis couldn’t help the smile that curved his lips against Harry’s, and the younger boy must have felt it because he breathed out a laugh against Louis’ skin, warm and vibrating and there.   
  
And that was enough,  _for now_ , Louis thought as he parted with one last peck. He drew back with his grin still in place and found Harry’s features in quite the same state—lips curved up in a smile, dimple denting his cheek so deeply it looked painful, eyes alight and gleaming.   
  
Louis let his hand fall from Harry’s cheek, fingers brushing down the boy’s neck, across his shoulder, coming to rest just above his elbow. The hands that were resting on Louis’ waist lowered as they moved apart, thumbs falling to rest just on the tops of Louis’ thighs.   
  
“Alright?” Louis asked after a beat, his voice quiet to match the moment.   
  
Harry nodded, sucking in his lower lip between his teeth. “Yeah,” he replied, green skirting across Louis’ features before falling into blue with an easy grin. “Alright.”   
  
**  
  
And that’s how things carried on the next week—slow and easy.   
  
That’s just how they worked, and Louis thought that was alright.   
  
**  
  
By the following Friday, they had settled into something comfortable.   
  
But all of that kind of fell by the wayside when—  
  
“LOUIS!”   
  
Louis and Harry both turned in time to catch sight of Phoebe scrambling down the hotel hallway in their direction. She was a blur of limbs, but her grin was too wide to miss as she came barreling toward them. Without any warning she was already launching herself into Louis’ arms and squeezing a hug around his neck.   
  
“Missed you so, so, so much, monkey,” Louis told her, leaving a scattering of kisses along her hairline as he spun them around. She giggled under his attention, and he pressed one last sloppy kiss to her cheek before pulling back to look at her. He narrowed his eyes. “But what are you doing out here by yourself? Where’s mum?”   
  
“We’re right here, Louis!” a voice called from further down the corridor. Louis glanced past Phoebe to find his mum and the rest of his sisters coming out of one of the rooms, a few doors down from where Louis and Harry had stopped just outside the lift.   
  
“I was waiting for you,” Phoebe announced, grinning in Louis’ arms. “Mummy let me stand watch at the door when Lottie said you writed her— _no_ , you texted her saying you and Harry are here and—Harry! Wait where’s he?!”   
  
Phoebe had said it all in one breath and then spun her head around quickly, nearly falling out of Louis’ arms as she turned to find Harry.   
  
The younger boy was stood beside them, and he smiled when Phoebe finally turned toward him. “Harry!” she nearly squealed in greeting.   
  
Harry met Louis’ eyes for an uncertain moment before replying a bit shyly, “Hi…”   
  
“Phoebe,” the little girl filled in, nodding eagerly. “I’m Phoebe! ‘Member from the, the, um, the—”   
  
“Skype chat,” Louis supplied.   
  
“Yes! That, ‘member we met in the Skype thing?”   
  
Harry smiled a tad wider, genuine. “‘Course I remember. I couldn’t forget something like that, could I?”   
  
And Phoebe was sold by the time the rest of the Tomlinsons made it down the hall. “Mum, Mummy!” she said before anyone else could get a word in. “Look, Harry’s here!”  
  
“I see that, Pheebs.” Jay grinned widely as she joined them, and her face absolutely lit up as she took in the curly-haired boy standing beside Louis. “It’s so great to finally meet you, love,” she said and coaxed Harry into a hug without much of a choice. Harry looked a little uneasy but he returned the hug and sentiment with a smile of his own, wide enough that Louis felt a smile pulling on his lips in response.   
  
“Hey!” Louis shouted, laughing. “Your only son’s standing right here!”   
  
“Oh, I know, sweetie, I’ve not forgotten about you,” his mother said while pulling away from Harry. “But I’ve seen you plenty of times, and you’ve been telling me so many good things about this boy right here.”   
  
Harry blushed a dark red.   
  
“So what, I’m old news now?” Louis wondered, feigning offense. “Are you trying to replace me with Harry?”   
  
“Oooh! Can we?” Phoebe asked, smiling a toothy grin.   
  
“Oi! Harry will not be replacing anyone!”   
  
“Especially not your brother,” Harry added, speaking up for the first time.   
  
“Yes, especially not me,” Louis agreed.   
  
“That’d be ridiculous.”   
  
“Completely.”  
  
“I couldn’t step into his shoes, anyway,” Harry continued, smirking now. “They’re way too small for me.”   
  
The others laughed, but Louis sent Harry a pointed glare. “Don’t get cheeky with me now, Haz,” he warned, though the tiny smile on his lips kind of offset his words.   
  
The younger boy flushed and looked away guiltily. “Sorry,” he murmured.   
  
“I’m kidding,” Louis assured him with a nudge to his shoulder, just to be sure. Harry nodded, smiling again, but their attention was torn away from each other when Lottie finally spoke up beside them.   
  
“Are we going to dinner yet? It’s been  _hours_ ,” she whined.   
  
Louis’ eyes widened. “You guys didn’t stop on the road for anything?”   
  
“No, we came up right after school,” Felicite told him, grimacing. “Mum told us we had to wait.”   
  
“And she didn’t want us to sp—” Daisy started to add and then stumbled on the word, “spoil our dinner with snacks.”   
  
“Oi, don’t go turning me into the bad guy here,” Jay defended herself. “You all said you wanted to wait to eat with Louis and  _Harry_.” She said the younger boy’s name in a dreamy sort of tone, as though the girls had been referring to him in such a way, which, Louis figured, they probably had.   
  
“Yeah, but, Mum—”   
  
Louis interrupted before any of his sisters could start in on a useless argument. It was getting late, anyway, already half past seven. “Let’s get going, then?” he suggested, nodding toward the lifts.   
  
“I’m riding with Harry!” Phoebe declared.   
  
And she did—along with Daisy, Felicite, and Lottie all piled into the backseat of Louis’ car. Jay had to drive alone to the restaurant, but she did it with a roll of her eyes and a fond shake of her head.   
  
**   
  
Dinner was calmer than Louis had expected it to be, but Daisy and Phoebe were nearly asleep by the end of it.   
  
Phoebe had spent most of the meal trying to see if Harry really was a wizard, and she kept asking no matter how many times her siblings told her that, “No, Pheebs, he’s  _not_.” She didn’t believe any of them, though.   
  
Much of the conversation was directed at Harry. Too much of it, really, so much that Louis could tell the younger boy was overwhelmed by all of the attention. Louis, for his part, kept his hand intertwined with Harry’s beneath the table for as long as he could.   
  
He thought it wasn’t that obvious, even if he had to eat most of his meal with his left hand. But on the way to car park afterward, Harry a few paces ahead of them with Phoebe on his back and Felicite beside him, it was clear his mother had noticed.   
  
“So, you and Harry, huh?” she asked.   
  
Louis felt his cheeks burning, but Jay was grinning when he looked to her. “What are you on about?” he tried.   
  
“Oh please, Louis,” she laughed, shaking her head. “I wasn’t born yesterday. I know what it looks like when two people are holding hands beneath a table all night.”   
  
He flushed. “It wasn’t  _all_  night!”   
  
“Okay, okay, most of the night, then,” Jay corrected. “Were you planning on telling me about that anytime soon?”   
  
“Yes,” Louis said, but he hung his head. He had been planning on telling his mum, he really had. It had been two weeks since that first night when Harry had told him everything, since their first kiss that very early morning. But then he wasn’t sure about it, after, and it had taken a week more for him to really understand everything. He knew that wasn’t an excuse, though, because he called his mother nearly every day just to check in and let her know about anything new. But, “It never felt like the right time to tell you.”   
  
“So you were just going to keep it a secret?”  
  
“No, Mum, of course not.” Louis sighed and slumped his shoulders as best he could while carrying an exhausted Daisy in his arms. “I was going to, I just. It’s only been a couple of weeks, really, alright? I didn’t want to tell you it was something if it ended up being nothing.”   
  
“Mm,” Jay hummed, soft in the night. A few beats passed before, “Is it nothing?”   
  
Louis thought about it for a moment. He thought about the way his heart seemed to hammer in his chest whenever the younger boy’s attention was on him. He thought about how this was so different from any relationship he’d ever had before, about how it seemed to sneak up on him, about how Harry had seemingly found a place in his life without preamble. He thought about it for a moment, and he realized the answer with a thrumming heart and a racing mind.   
  
“No,” Louis told his mother, smiling softly as he stared ahead at the boy who was growing more and more comfortable in his life, falling into a spot that Louis hadn’t even realized was empty. “I really don’t think it is.”   
  
**  
  
Saturday was a comfortable sort of lazy day.   
  
It was nice, having his family around. Louis hadn’t seen his family in months. He had only made it home for a quick visit over his winter hols, and that had only been for a handful of days. The entire visit had felt rushed.   
  
This weekend was different. Louis wasn’t being rushed from place to place and the girls weren’t worrying about finishing up work they had left for the last minute. This weekend was just slow and relaxed. Comfortable.   
  
The flat certainly wasn’t meant for eight people (nine, once Niall insisted on coming over for the better part of the afternoon), but instead of crowded it just felt full. Full of laughter and warm smiles.   
  
Zayn was holed with Felicite in his room, as usually happened with the two whenever the Tomlinsons came to visit. Felicite usually got caught up going through Zayn’s crates of books and asking to borrow some and suggesting others. It was a weird dynamic they had, but Louis always thought it was endearing.   
  
Harry, on the other hand, was nearly buried beneath the twins that afternoon. He had been clearly uncomfortable with their attention at first, but he was warming up to their affectionate manners, relaxing under their hugs, and falling for their smiles. He fit, Louis was beginning to realize. Just like he had fit into life in the flat with such ease, he was fitting in to the rest of Louis’ life without any difficulty at all. It made Louis’ chest soar and it sent those butterflies in his stomach on a rampage, but he extinguished any thoughts that came from it—for now, at least.   
  
Lottie was glued to her phone like any teenage girl, and Jay was grilling Louis with questions about school and his future and matters he really didn’t want to even think about while Harry was curled up with two of his sisters.   
  
But his mother went on anyway, "So you're done in May?"   
  
"For the summer, yes, Mum, you know this," Louis reiterated and tried not to think about how many times he had already told his mother his term schedule.   
  
His mother hummed, flipping through another few channels on the telly. "And then what?" she asked, feigning nonchalance with her eyes trained on the set. "Are you looking for employment at all, another internship by chance?"   
  
"I don't know, Mum.” Louis held back a sigh. “I hadn't really thought about it much."  
  
"It's almost May, darling, I'm just pointing that out. You really need to start looking around.”   
  
“I will,” Louis told her. “I’ll try, I just haven’t seen a lot of signs up lately.”   
  
“Surely there’s someone who’s hiring. And if it’s close enough you could keep it during the next term, too, maybe work a few evenings and the weekends so you can save up a bit. Just so you have something to fall back on once you’re finished.”   
  
“Right, I know, that’d be brill, Mum, I’m just not sure where—”   
  
"There are a few places over by the shop that are looking to hire," Harry interrupted, though not too loudly. He glanced away with a flush when all eyes turned toward him, but he added with a cleared throat, "I mean, that is, if you're really looking for something part-time. You could, erm, look around there, if you want.”   
  
Jay stared at the younger boy for a moment, as though contemplating, and then turned toward her son with a smile. “Well see, Lou, you can start there, can’t you? At least to start searching?”   
  
Louis agreed, just thankful that the information satisfied his mother enough for her to move on to a different topic entirely. And when his mother wasn’t looking, blue caught green across the room and the older boy mouthed a grateful  _thank you._  
  
He knew Harry understood, because he blushed a light shade of pink and nodded his sentiments with a smile.   
  
**  
  
The twins liked Harry.   
  
Phoebe had taken a special liking toward the boy, but both of them had barely separated from his side the entire day. Daisy only untangled herself and pulled away once Niall showed up because, well. She’d taken to the Irish lad a couple years before and had yet to grow out of it. Niall never seemed to mind. Phoebe, however, remained curled up in Harry’s lap for the better part of the day.  
  
The telly was tuned into a rerun of Doctor Who, the sound turned down lower than usual, when Louis heard Phoebe ask above the show, “Do you have any sisters or brothers, Harry?”   
  
Louis’ stomach dropped.   
  
It was an innocent question, but if there was one thing Louis had learned since knowing Harry it was that talk about the family was off limits. On very rare occasions, unexpected, out of the blue, Harry would sometimes slip up and mention something from back home—a memory from his past, something his mum always said or something his family always did—but then he would retract his steps and mend the reopened wound with a too bright smile. So Louis never asked, especially not anymore, not after Harry had told him about what had driven him to leave home altogether.   
  
So it was with bated breath that Louis’ eyes jumped toward the younger boy that evening. His mind raced for a rational way to tell his sister  _no, Phoebe, that’s not something we talk about_ , but Harry was already answering.   
  
“Just a sister,” he told her, a sad sort of smile on his lips. “She’s older than me.”   
  
“Like Louis?”   
  
“Yeah.” Harry chuckled as Phoebe traced over the circular logo on the front of his shirt. “Just like Louis.”   
  
“Where’s she?”   
  
“Off at uni.” His smile faltered just a tad, such a small change that Louis had almost missed it. “She should be finishing up this spring.”   
  
Phoebe’s face lit up, unaware of the mood, unaware of the smile not reaching Harry’s eyes. “Are you going to go to her graduation?” she wondered, grinning widely as she keened with excitement at the mere prospect. “I bet it’ll be pretty and your sis will probably dress nice and your family will go out to a fancy meal.” She giggled at the idea, but Harry shook his head.   
  
“I don’t think I’ll be going to her graduation, Pheebs,” he said, voice low and brushing upon broken.   
  
Phoebe frowned in Harry’s lap, her little brow dipped with confusion. “Why not?”   
  
Harry floundered for a second, and Louis thought about cutting in right then, stepping in to at least change the subject. But the younger boy was already trying on a smile, raising his voice a bit as he explained gently, “I just haven’t spoken to her in a while, is all.”   
  
“Oh.” Phoebe frowned again. “Are you and her fighting?”   
  
Harry nodded. “Something like that, yeah.”   
  
“And your Mummy hasn’t made you make up?” she wondered, genuine and curious. “Mummy always makes us stop fighting and say sorry before we’re allowed to sleep.”   
  
The younger boy let out a bark of laughter, but it sounded weak and watery and it didn’t match the look on his face, the downturn of his lips, the vacancy in his eyes. “Well that’s good she makes you do that,” he told her, smoothing a hand down her hair. “My mum doesn’t… I haven’t spoken to her in a while either, Phoebe.”   
  
The girl frowned even deeper than before, and she asked in a whisper that was almost drowned out by the telly, “Are your mum and you in a fight, too?”   
  
“Yeah,” Harry said, nodding with a thin smile. “Yeah, we’re kind of fighting, too.”   
  
“What about?” Phoebe asked, wide-eyed.   
  
“Phoebe, that’s not—” Louis finally did speak up this time, but Harry was shaking his head and green met blue for a second just long enough to say  _it’s okay._  
  
“It’s nothing bad,” Harry started, his voice soft as he explained. “But you know how sometimes a person doesn’t like something that you really love, and that makes you really sad?” Phoebe nodded. “Well, my mum really doesn’t like something that’s really important to me.”   
  
“Oh.” Phoebe bit her lip, silent in thought, before, “And that makes you sad, Harry?”   
  
Harry was quiet for a moment, his eyes glistening as he looked at Phoebe. He stared at her as though maybe he wasn’t sure if he should tell her the truth, or maybe like he didn’t understand quite how a little girl could seem so perceptive. But after a minute he nodded, once and then again. “Yeah,” he admitted, gentle and earnest. “That makes me very sad, Phoebe.”   
  
Phoebe stared back at him for a moment, her eyes wide but her brow furrowed as she considered him. But then, as though shooing away a thought, she shook her head at herself and shifted, rearranging on Harry’s lap. With a determined huff, she took Harry’s face between her tiny hands, squishing his cheeks just slightly as she pulled him close until they were practically nose to nose. Their eyes crossed with the close proximity, but it didn’t seem to deter Phoebe from what she had to say.   
  
“Don’t be sad,” she told him, her tone fixed yet comforting. “It’ll be alright, you’ll see. Everything  _always_  ends up alright.”   
  
Louis had to bite back a smile and blink back the tears that sprung to his eyes; that was always what he would tell his sisters whenever they were upset or when their parents would fight or when somebody had been mean at school. He’d always tell them the same thing, time and time again, and he’d always say it in just the same way—pulled close, face to face, forcing his sister to look him in the eye, just so she could see how much he meant it. And no matter how many tears had been shed, it always seemed to do the trick.   
  
Even now, spoken by a 7 year old, it seemed to work again.   
  
Harry’s eyes might have been covered with a sheen of tears, but a smile was latching onto his lips, growing and growing and growing until he was grinning at Phoebe. The little girl seemed to take it as a good sign, because she let out a squeal of a giggle before launching herself at Harry with a crushing hug.   
  
And Louis had thought, for the briefest moment, that maybe Harry wouldn’t be like his normal self for the rest of the night, not after that conversation. But the younger boy was hugging Phoebe back with a wide, warm smile on his features, and Louis put out the thought just as quickly as it had sprung.   
  
**  
  
Later on that evening, well after supper, things began to settle back down again.   
  
It was late enough that Daisy and Phoebe were dozing off, and they were both huddled up together beneath a blanket, curled into a corner of the sofa. Felicite was content on the floor, resting against the sofa with a borrowed book in her lap, Zayn had escaped earlier on with Niall in tow, and Lottie had (after much begging) finally agreed to a game of cards with the rest of them.   
  
But after two rounds, somewhere around nine that evening, Jay got up with the pretense tea. She brushed off the front of her pants and asked, casually, “Harry, won’t you help me?”   
  
Louis, though, didn’t miss the glimmer of mischief in her eye, and he scrambled to get up before Harry could. “Mum, it’s fine, I’ll help you.”  
  
“Louis, sweetie, don’t be silly. Harry is perfectly capable of helping me carry out a few cuppas.”  
  
“ _Mum_.”   
  
“Lou, it’s fine,” Harry told him, standing up. He offered Louis a smile that seemed to emphasize _it’s fine._  
  
“See?” Jay said and shook her head fondly. “I’m allowed to speak to the poor boy alone, aren’t I?”   
  
Louis made to deny such, because he could only imagine all of the things his mother might think to ask the younger boy, but the pair were already disappearing into the kitchen, out of sight. He could hear his mother’s voice, muffled from the other room, and he let out a sigh before turning back to the stack of cards he had yet to shuffle.   
  
“You like him, don’t you?” Lottie asked while he was dealing.   
  
He paused, eyeing her before placing down the stack of cards. “Maybe,” was all he replied, voice soft like a secret.   
  
His sister grinned, though, leaning in a little closer. “No, you do. There’s no maybe.”   
  
“You so sure about that?” Louis wondered.   
  
Lottie only shrugged, drawing up a card from the deck. “I just think it’s pretty obvious. You two were looking pretty cozy on the sofa earlier, anyway.”   
  
“With Pheebs and Daisy!”   
  
“Yeah, yeah, like you weren’t staring at Harry the whole time,” his sister grumbled, shaking her head with a smile. “Don’t be dense about it, Lou.”   
  
“I’m not being dense about anything,” Louis refuted as he discarded.   
  
“Mhm,” Lottie hummed. “Good thing mum’s in love with him.”   
  
Their eyes met over the decks of cards. Lottie was grinning again, full and unabashed, and Louis was trying (and failing) to fight away the blush that had settled into his cheeks. He and Lottie had never made it a thing to talk about boys or crushes or anything of the like. She knew Louis liked boys, too, at least, but still. It wasn’t something the two of them talked about all that often, and Louis wasn’t about to make it a thing that night.   
  
So he flicked a card her way and laughed. “Just shut up and take your turn, yeah?”   
  
“Fine,” Lottie obliged. “But you totally fancy him.”   
  
Louis’ cheeks were burning as he drew a card from the top of the deck, and he didn’t dare look at his sister as he murmured, “Yeah, I do, alright?”   
  
Lottie just grinned.   
  
**   
  
Louis didn’t get a chance to find out what his mum and Harry had talked about.   
  
His mum wouldn’t tell him a word the following day when he asked. She just smiled a knowing little smile, a twinkle in her eye, and told him, “Don’t you worry about it, sweetie. It was nothing bad, I promise.”   
  
“Somehow, I really don’t believe you,” Louis mumbled as he followed Jay toward their car, one of his sister’s suitcases in tow.   
  
“Louis, honey, honestly.” Jay laughed, opening up the boot. “We were only in the kitchen for five minutes. That’s hardly long enough for me to recount every embarrassing tale from your childhood.”   
  
Louis frowned. “That’s not what I was worried about.”   
  
“Then what?”   
  
There were a lot of things Louis could have said to that, a lot of things he was genuinely worried about, things that he knew that his mum or his sisters or even his friends didn’t, things that he knew to avoid, things that he knew to tread through lightly, with care and without judgment.   
  
But a car park on a Sunday afternoon, just before his family was about to head home, wasn’t the time or place to get into that. So he shrugged, squinting in the sunlight as he looked toward his mum. “I don’t know,” he said, quieter than before, just loud enough for his mother to hear. “I just know you like to dig sometimes, and Harry’s…” He trailed off, shook his head. “Look, Mum, he just. Things were tough for him, you know? He doesn’t like talking about it.”   
  
Jay let out a sigh and finished packing up the car before turning toward her son. “I know.” She sighed, hands falling to rest on her hips. “I mean I don’t know everything, clearly, but, sweetie, I know. I wouldn’t corner him to purposely make him uncomfortable.” She paused, ducked her head to catch Louis’ eyes. “You know that, don’t you?”   
  
He was silent for a moment and he darted his eyes away from his mother’s before nodding stiffly. “I know,” he agreed, because he knew his mother wouldn’t do that, but, “I’m just… I don’t know.”   
  
“You don’t want to see him get hurt, baby,” Jay supplied, her voice gentle and knowing. “I get it.”   
  
“I guess,” Louis settled, but he didn’t think that was really all there was to it. It felt like more than that. He never wanted to see Harry get hurt, of course, but it was more than that. At least, it felt like more.   
  
“Mum, can we go yet?” Felicite asked then, popping her head out of the rolled down car window.   
  
“Patience, darling, look it up!” Jay called back with a roll of her eyes, enough to earn a laugh from Louis. After Felicite ducked back into the car, Jay directed her attention back to Louis, smiling lightly. “Take care of yourself, yeah?” Her eyes flicked across the way, past a few empty parking spaces, to where Harry was waiting on Louis, leaning against the older boy’s car, and then looked back. Her smile was still intact, but her eyes were a tad sadder. “Both of you,” she amended.   
  
A smile crossed Louis’ lips and he nodded, surer than before. “We’ll be alright,” he promised.   
  
“Good.” His mother grinned, believing, and she gave him a tight hug and a kiss to both cheeks before parting ways. Louis waved once to all of them before turning away, not able to watch them go. He could never watch them go.   
  
So he turned, then, before he even heard the engine start and headed toward his own car. Harry was waiting there, his long frame leaned against the passenger’s door. He had his arms crossed against his torso and his brow was dipped with concern. “All good?” he asked as Louis approached.   
  
Louis could only nod as he went around to the driver’s side, lip held tight between his teeth. His eyes felt damp as he got in and buckled up, but he blinked away any tears, shook away the feeling altogether, and focused on the road after starting up the car.   
  
They drove in silence for several minutes, just the radio playing on with the Top 40, low and muted, shoved into the background. But then, pulling to a stop in traffic, Louis wondered, “All good with you?”   
  
Harry glanced across the space between them, brow raised, but nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”  
  
“Good,” Louis settled, nodding. “Good.”   
  
After a moment, once traffic started moving again, the older boy freed one hand and held it, palm up, across the center console. It took only seconds now for a larger hand to find its way to his, fingers falling into the empty spaces with ease. He squeezed Harry’s hand then, gentle and reassuring.   
  
Another minute passed before he added, his voice so soft it was almost lost beneath the radio, “I’m sorry, y’know, about Phoebe yesterday.”   
  
Louis didn’t turn to see the younger boy’s reaction, but it didn’t take as long as he would have expected for Harry’s response to come. “It was fine,” he said, shrugging enough that Louis could see it from the corner of his eye. “She was just curious.”   
  
“I know.” Louis sighed. “I know, but still I—”   
  
“Lou, it’s alright.”   
  
Blue found green as the older boy tore his eyes from the road, uncertain and seeking confirmation. “Yeah?” he had to ask, just to be sure, because it hadn’t felt alright at the time. It had felt anything but.   
  
The younger boy’s lips curled into a smile. “Yeah,” he said again, simple and easy. “It’s alright.”  
  
With a breath, Louis brought their joined hands to his lips and brushed a kiss just against the younger boy’s knuckles. “Alright,” he echoed and matched Harry’s smile, inch for inch and promise for promise.   



	15. Who's Counting: I Don't Need It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i refuse to believe june even happened.

~*~

Chapter Fourteen  
Who’s Counting: I Don’t Need It

“Where’re you headed?” 

Zayn glanced up as he came fully into the living room. He had a backpack thrown over his shoulder, a duffel bag hanging in his right hand, and his keys dangling in his left. 

“Long weekend!” Louis called from the kitchen before Zayn could even answer. He walked into the living room and joined Harry on the sofa seconds later, plate with a sandwich in hand. “Zayn always goes home the weekend before his exams start up.” 

The youngest boy furrowed his brow. “Don’t you have classes this week still?”

Zayn shrugged one shoulder, indifferent. “Last couple meetings aren’t that important, so.” 

“So Zayn takes a long weekend and heads home,” Louis supplied, taking a bite from his sandwich. 

“Oh.” Harry frowned, waited a moment before wondering, “Why not just wait until your exams are finished to visit home? Isn’t your family, like, over three hours away?” 

“Gotta work.” Zayn shrugged again. “It’s easier this way, more convenient.” 

“Really though,” Louis continued on through a full mouth, “Zayn just misses his family. Can’t wait a few more weeks before running off to them.”

“Shut it, Lou.”

Louis grinned around his sandwich and amended with a laugh. “Alright, so being home helps him think better. At least that’s the shit line he’s fed me for the last three years.” 

“Okay, I’m leaving,” Zayn declared loudly enough that Louis couldn’t say anymore. He made his way to the front door, both bags hoisted back over his shoulder as he pulled open the door. “I’ll see you guys sometime Monday morning, alright?” 

Louis and Harry both said their goodbyes, Zayn calling back his own. 

“Oh, and Harry,” Zayn added on as an afterthought, turning around in the doorway to pop just his head back into the flat. “Feel free to crash in my room for a few days. Give your back a break from that sofa. I just washed the sheets, so.” He smiled, something wide and gentle, and nodded like he was finishing a thought to himself. “Yeah, it’s yours until I’m back, cool?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “Cool, see you two buggers next week.” 

Zayn left without another word, the door closing fully shut behind him, and left the two other boys alone in the flat. Neither spoke for a solid minute, letting the silence carry on in Zayn’s wake, until—

“He meant that, you know,” Louis said, his voice low, words falling out like a tender secret. “You’re more than welcome to take over his room for a few days, move in a bit more, and, um, sleep in a proper bed for once.” He added the last part a little quieter, and when Harry looked toward him he saw that the older boy was biting his lower lip, had his brows drawn together in a look of hesitant guilt. 

It made Harry’s gut drop. 

“I don’t mind sleeping on the sofa, Lou, you know that,” Harry told him in as earnest a voice he could manage, because he really, really didn’t mind it. He was thankful for what he had managed to find; a sofa was so much more than a park bench or a hidden little alcove beneath a flyover. A place to sleep, with heat and water, surrounded by people who had taken him in without a second thought. It was more than he ever could have asked for, once he was on his own. 

His words did little to calm the older boy, though, as Louis sighed and put down the rest of his sandwich, sliding it to the table. “I know, I know,” he agreed, nodding his head, “I just… You live here, Harry, I mean you’re even chipping in on rent and buying groceries and doing the wash, and you shouldn’t be forced to the sofa like that. It’s not… You deserve more than that, Haz.” 

Harry shrugged a shoulder against the sofa cushions, turned a slight smile toward Louis. “Maybe,” he said, “but I don’t need it.” 

Louis parted his lips, like he made to disagree, but closed them after a second. He hummed, drummed his fingers against his leg, and nodded. “Okay,” he settled eventually, “okay, I get that, and maybe you don’t _need_ a bed, but just… Don’t make life harder on yourself just because you feel like you’re inconveniencing us or something like that, alright? ‘Cause that’s not the case.” 

“Okay,” Harry replied right away. It was something he’d learn since living with Louis and Zayn; it was better just to agree, even if a part of him (a part that was continually growing more muted with each passing day) still wanted to disagree, maybe run and hide because this was all too much. There was still that voice in the back of his head, the one that warned him that he was taking too much when he could still only give so much in return. But he was learning to realize that even though it felt like he were continuing to just take, take, and take, Louis never saw it that way. To Harry it sometimes felt like he were the greedy child asking for more, but Louis likened it to putting an offer on the table—he was placing the resources there in sight without expecting reciprocation. To Louis, Harry wasn’t taking; he was accepting, and that made all the difference. 

So Harry accepted the offer that Wednesday morning, swallowed back his opposition with a soft smile. 

The older boy lifted a brow, as though surprised by the easy agreement. “Okay?” 

“I mean, he already changed the sheets, so.” Harry shrugged, tried to make it seem like it wasn’t a big deal, agreeing to an arrangement like this. It was just a bed, right? Not a big deal, even if Harry’s back let out a cry of relief at the mere thought of a proper mattress. 

“Right, yeah.” Louis nodded, grabbing his plate back from the table. He was biting down a smile. 

So maybe it was just a bed, not a big deal to any outsider, nothing to ever make a fuss over. But Harry felt himself biting back a smile of his own, seeing the way Louis took it as a tiny victory—like the older boy had been wanting to move Harry off the sofa for ages now. Harry wondered if, maybe, that were actually true. 

**

Harry was in the midst of checking out a customer when the bell on the front door to the shop jingled. His eyes jumped toward the entrance out of a natural habit, and he frowned at the sight. Entering the shop with a long face and slumped shoulders was Niall, looking a little worse for wear. He had dark bags under his eyes and looked like he hadn’t slept a wink the night before. And as if to prove just that, he came straight to the counter and slumped down against it, letting out a discomforted grunt. “Mate, I haven’t been this knackered since New Year’s.” 

“Um.” Harry chanced the customer—a girl who couldn’t be past sixteen, dressed in skinny jeans and a grunge Nirvana tee—a nervous glance, but she looked more amused by Niall’s presence than miffed by the intrusion. All the same, Harry finished counting up her change and waited until she left before turning his attention back toward the blond boy. “What’s got you so exhausted?” 

Niall groaned and fell fully against the counter, head buried in his arms. “Stayed up till five going over musical theory and the entire freaking history of the Baroque period and shit for class and then I couldn’t sleep and I just remembered that Zayn ditched me for his family and that royally sucks,” he explained in one jumbled sentence, exaggerating it all with a pathetic wail of a fake cry. 

“Oh.” Harry laughed uncertainly and busied himself with cleaning up the cash wrap, always needing something to do with his hands. He looked to Niall with a bewildered expression, though. “But Zayn’s just gone through the weekend, isn’t he?” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Niall said, nodding his head as he straightened up, leaving just his hands to rest against the counter. He still looked miserable as he continued, “And Zayn does this every year, it’s his thing, helps him mentally prepare or whatever, but.” He stopped, frowned as though unhappy with his own thoughts. “I don’t know, guess I’m just stressed or something. Anyway,” he paused just long enough for a smile to brighten his features, snapping into place like with the flick of a switch, “when are you a free man today?” 

The curly-haired boy laughed at the other’s sudden change of mood but spared a glance toward the clock on the far wall anyway. “I switch off with Josh in a half-hour,” he answered, trying not to make it obvious that he had been counting down the hours of his shift since coming in. He was itching to get back to the flat, was all, and it definitely had nothing to do with the fact that he’d be there alone with Louis. Definitely not. “Why?” 

“Thought we’d do something. Grab some grub, pick up a few things, maybe. Been needing a new snapback,” Niall said and, as if to emphasize his point, raked a hand through his loose locks. “Sound good?” 

All of a second passed before Harry was agreeing. As much as part of him was itching to get back to the flat, spend the night in with Louis, another part of him was scared shitless to do so. He didn’t know what that might entail, actually. So that scared part of him won out in the moment, hopped on the chance to spend another couple hours out. “Sounds good,” he agreed. 

“Cool.” Niall grinned, demeanor still completely changed despite the dark circles under his eyes. He hopped onto the counter, something Harry had noticed he was prone to do even if Nick yelled at him every time he caught him, and pulled his phone out of his pocket, tapping away at it for a minute. Harry continued tidying up the cash wrap, content to listen to the music playing softly throughout the shop. It’s how he normally worked, anyway, and he was fine with the silence until Niall broke into the calm with a blunt statement, “Maybe we’ll get you some more clothes while we’re at it.” 

Harry stilled, blinked up from where he was breaking open a new roll of coins. “Sorry?” 

The older boy hadn’t even looked from his phone when he made the comment, and he only glanced toward Harry after another moment. His smile fell. “I don’t mean anything by it, Hazza,” he explained, sounding earnest. “Really, I just… You could use more than a couple outfits, couldn’t you?” 

“I have more than a _couple_ —” 

“Kid, I know shit about fashion and even I can tell that shirt isn’t yours,” Niall cut him off, pointing a finger at Harry’s top. 

Harry looked down at himself, pulled a bit at the bottom hem of his t-shirt to get a better look at it. It wasn’t his; it was one of the tops Louis had been letting him borrow. It wasn’t anything special, just a white shirt with some dark, abstract design printed on it. Harry had been wearing it every now and then since February, as it had somehow worked its way into his small variety of clothes. But, maybe Niall was right. The shirt hadn’t fit that well months before and now it had grown too snug around the shoulders, strained across his chest, and it was shorter than any other shirt Harry would choose to wear. So maybe it wasn’t the most comfortable of shirts, but it did what it needed to do and that’s all Harry needed. 

He told Niall as much, but the blond wouldn’t have anything to do with it. “Harry, come on,” Niall said, laughing a bit exasperatedly. “I’m not talking about buying out the whole of H&M, but you could use a few more shirts, at least another pair of jeans.” 

Harry spared his jeans a glance, too. They were the same pair he’d been wearing for months, and it was beginning to become more than a little obvious—the scraped knees had frayed beyond what most would consider acceptable and the bottoms had been trampled on and caught on everything. He’d been wearing them every day for too many days to count, and maybe, he thought, it might be nice to get out of this pair, pack away some of these memories and put on something new. 

So, “Maybe another pair of jeans,” Harry agreed. 

“Yeah?” Niall looked eager, maybe a little too eager for a simple shopping trip. 

But Harry nodded, his lips curving up with a slight smile. 

**

Maybe Harry should have reconsidered, though, because he and Niall had barely been at the shopping centre for half an hour before Harry already had his arms full of clothes to try on. He grunted, shifting the pile from one arm to the other and frowned as Niall tugged another shirt from the rack and threw it on top. 

“Erm, Niall.” 

“Shh, it’s just to try on,” Niall insisted, sifting through the rest of the rack. “You need to have some options.” 

“Don’t I already have enough options here?” 

Niall turned, spared the clothes in Harry’s arms a contemplative glance, and turned back to the rack with a negative hum. “Too many t-shirts and button ups. It’s practically summer, you could use some tanks—”

“Niall.”

“—maybe some shorts, too, mate, otherwise you’re gonna fucking melt out there—”

“ _Niall_.” 

The blond finally looked up from the rack of striped shorts he was flipping through. He blinked at Harry across the top of the clothes, looking almost confused. “What?” 

“Niall, I really, _really_ don’t need all of this,” Harry told him in a harsh whisper, emphasizing it by lifting up the clothes already draped over his arms. They were starting to get heavy, and he felt like an utter fool with the shop clerk staring at him with such outward amusement. 

“Harry.” Niall laughed, chuckling as he pulled another top from the rack. “You can’t wear the same two outfits forever.” 

Harry felt his cheeks flaming, and he murmured softly enough that only Niall could hear, “I do the wash every few days. It’s not that big a deal.” He paused, shrugged, and looked away as he felt Niall’s eyes on him again. “It’s cheaper, anyway.” 

The other boy didn’t reply at first, nor did he continue flipping through the clothes rack. His response was so delayed that Harry had to look up, just to be sure that Niall hadn’t left the shop entirely. When he looked toward the blond he found Niall looking at him with a quizzical expression, calculating in a way that seemed too out of place on the boy. “You have some extra cash now,” Niall said eventually, like he was working aloud through his own thoughts. “I mean, it’s not like I’ve handed you shirts that cost £80 each, so what’s this really about?” 

Harry shrugged again, as well as he could, and shifted the pile of clothes into his left arm entirely so he could rub at the back of his neck that was suddenly burning. “Nothing,” he replied, hoping his voice sounded normal enough—calm and steady enough. It didn’t. With a sigh and downcast eyes, Harry continued, “I just… I don’t need all of these clothes, alright? Besides, I, erm, I don’t really have… _anywhere_ to keep ‘em?” He finished in a voice so low that it almost went unheard beneath the constant hum of the store’s music. 

And he wasn’t sure if Niall had even heard him, because when he looked up again the other boy was shaking his head with a frown and tapping away on his phone. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Getting you some space to put things,” Niall supplied, shrugging off the reply like he were sharing nothing more than the time. 

Harry blinked in confusion. “Sorry?” 

“I’m getting you some space to store some new clothes,” the blonde explained and, after a beat, looked up from his phone with a bright grin. “Sorted! Louis’ clearing out some closet space and another drawer for you as we speak.” 

“Oh.” Harry felt his stomach do that odd little twist, that thing it only ever did when he felt a mix of greed and guilt. He swallowed thickly. “He doesn’t have to do that, really—” 

“Nonsense.” Niall shook his head and shoved his phone back into his pocket before looking back to Harry. “Mate, you’re _living_ there, have been for months now. You shouldn’t still be trekking about like a visitor just kipping up for the night.” 

“Yeah, but….” Harry trailed off; he couldn’t even think of an argument, another statement besides _I don’t need it._

Niall smiled knowingly but kept it soft. “You shouldn’t have to feel like a stranger in your own home, Harry,” he said, almost whispered it. “Louis wouldn’t ever want you to feel like that, you know?” 

And Harry knew that. Harry could tell that Louis had been doing everything he could to make Harry feel welcomed, even more so since Harry had told him about what had happened back home, with his family. He knew Louis would probably jump on any request—if he were to let the older boy know just how uncomfortable the sofa really was, he’d probably do everything in his power to get Harry off of it; if Harry asked for his own set of drawers or even a cabinet, Louis would probably shove away a current piece of furniture just to make space. Louis was always so accommodating, but it did little to calm Harry’s discomfort and fear of overstepping. That’s the thing—Harry still felt like he was asking too much just by being there. He might’ve had a key, he might’ve been there for months, but he still felt like it were just a trip, just a temporary arrangement, like if he were to step just a toe out of line that he could be back to square one. He knew Louis wouldn’t do that, knew the older boy would be offended that Harry even feared it, but he still worried about, still felt it. And no matter how many days had passed, how many nights he had spent on that sofa with a smile on his face and a key in his pocket, it had yet to feel like a place he could call home. 

But he nodded all the same that afternoon, standing in the middle of a store with too many clothes hanging from his arms and Niall looking at him with concern. He nodded, lip held snug between his teeth and his heart leaping in his chest. “I know,” he said, agreed because it was true—Louis would never want Harry to feel like a stranger, but he said no more about it. 

His response sufficed, though, because Niall nodded, smiling, and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Good,” he settled. “Great, so, let’s get you a fresh wardrobe, yeah?” 

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” Harry gave in, and he left the shop that night with two bags full of new clothes. Niall never did go off in search of a new snapback—his reason for shopping in the first place—that night, but Harry never mentioned it. 

**

Harry woke the following morning to someone poking his shoulder—incessantly. It was light at first, just a gentle touch like a hesitant question, but then it persisted and lasted until he rolled over and blinked up at his slumber intruder. 

“Wha’?” he asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before he even caught his bearings. But when he did, blinking open his eyes to realize he wasn’t where he usually was, it was to find Louis sitting on the side of his bed— _Zayn’s bed_ , he remembered belatedly. _Zayn’s bed, Zayn’s room, Louis and Zayn’s flat. Not home._ The cues flipped through Harry’s thoughts like a checklist, a sobering record of reminders. _Not home._

Louis was smiling when Harry looked toward him, but there was a drop of sadness swimming just along his lips, in his eyes. “You alright?” he wondered, speaking softly like he were afraid of breaking the morning. 

“Yeah, I, erm, yeah, fine, good,” Harry mumbled out in a tired reply, scrubbing a hand across his face. His world was still spinning, just a bit, his mind having crawled back too far into the past, too far from his present reality. 

The older boy only raised a brow, disbelieving. 

_Of course._ Harry laughed, a sleepy, rough sound, and shoved up against the pillows and the headboard. “I’m fine, Lou, I just… Forgot where I was for a moment,” he explained as well and as vaguely as he could. Confessing that the poking to rouse him had a shout of his sister’s name burning on the tip of his tongue, that it had sent him tumbling into a time and place he couldn’t get back to, wasn’t something he wanted to talk about. Not right now, not any time soon. 

“Mm,” Louis hummed in understanding. “Hate when that happens. Sometimes I wake up, think I’m back at Mum’s, and nearly walk into a wall because the layout’s different and I haven’t realized it yet. It’s always disorienting.” A beat passed, then Louis smiled a little brighter, remembering. “Anyway, other than that, you sleep well?” 

“Fantastic, actually,” Harry admitted, because he had. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had slept so soundly, woke up without a crick in his neck, and that was kind of sad, maybe, but he didn’t say as much aloud. The sofa was still better than a lot of alternatives, so instead he only smiled. 

“Good, good. That’s good.” Louis smiled, too, more muted than before, and dropped his gaze. He was tracing one of the stripes on the duvet, index finger following the design in a mindless sort of motion, and he watched his hands like he were holding something back. 

Hesitantly, Harry reached out a hand, his fingers trailing across the mattress until they met Louis’. He stopped the older boy’s movements, his hand falling over top of Louis’, and intertwined their fingers on top the bedspread. He squeezed once and looked at Louis with a worried brow, the tables, for once, turned. “You alright?” he asked gently. 

Blue jumped to green then, bouncing into it while simultaneously holding back. Louis smiled something broken and shook his head, looking down at their hands as he spoke. “No, I’m—” he started but then cut off, abrupt and sharp into a sigh, another shake of the head. “God, Harry, I feel like the shittiest person alive, because only an absolute _bastard_ forces his flatmate to sleep on the sofa for months, you know? Honestly, that’s just so messed up, and I’ve been meaning to work something out, try to fit another bed in _somewhere_ , but I kept putting it off and then I got sidetracked with course work and looking for a job for the summer, and I am so sorry it fell by the wayside like this. I am so, so sorry, Harry, I really have been meaning to, but I—God, I’m such a horrible human being.” He finished with his face buried in his free hand. 

“Louis.” Harry laughed but rubbed his thumb along the older boy’s knuckles, rubbing in circles along his skin. “Louis,” he said again and waited until Louis finally glanced upward. “Lou, you’re not a horrible human being.” 

“I am.”

“You’re _not_ ,” Harry insisted because Louis was probably the nicest person he’d ever met. As if to emphasize this, he ducked his head until he could meet Louis’ eyes and then he smiled, something wide and dimply. “Seriously, Lou, you’re pretty great for even thinking of trying to fit another bed in the flat. That’d probably take the skill of a magician, I think.” 

The older boy chuckled. “Or just bunk beds, if we think like Zayn.” 

“Bit old for bunk beds, aren’t we?” Harry asked, relieved to see a smile back on Louis’ face. 

“Oh, Hazza,” Louis said on a laugh, “you’re never too old for bunk beds.” 

Harry barked out a laugh of his own. “Okay,” he agreed, grinning from what felt like ear to ear. “Fine, but I’m not letting you replace your bed with bunks.” 

Louis frowned. “Fine. Be a fun-sucker, why don’t you, Harry.” 

“Speaking of,” Harry started and spared the alarm on the bedside table a quick glance, “don’t you have a class to be getting to?” 

“See? Absolute fun-sucker, you are, Harry,” Louis continued, but the grin on his face was too bright to be serious, the glint in his eyes too teasing. He gave Harry’s hand a squeeze before letting go and pulling away from the bed completely, saying as he went, “You’re right, though. Just wanted to say good morning before heading out. Speaking of….” He stopped before stepping too far away and leaned back down, smiling shortly before pressing his lips to Harry’s in a gentle greeting. He pulled back just far enough after a moment, a dopey sort of grin peeling wide across his lips as he said, “Good morning.” 

Harry felt his chest racing, cheeks absolutely burning with a blush, but he managed a smile and a breathless reciprocation of, “Good morning.” 

Louis’ grin grew so wide Harry was afraid it would split, but the older boy just straightened up and ruffled Harry’s hair. “We’ll work something out, yeah? With the beds, I mean.” 

Harry tried to duck away from Louis’ hand but he was grinning all the same, swiping his fringe back across his forehead as Louis moved away. “We’ll work something out,” he agreed, but he didn’t think much of it, not even as Louis left the room with a smile too bright for such a vague promise. 

**

Louis worked something out in less than a week. 

It started with Louis sitting on the sofa that Monday night—the night Zayn came back—while Harry was brushing his teeth. It was a routine that had kicked in, Louis often letting Harry take the bathroom first. Most times, Louis would also wait for Harry, take his time packing up whatever assignments he was working on, wait until Harry returned, tell him goodnight. It was a routine. It wasn’t odd for Harry to find Louis sitting on the sofa just before he was about to head to bed, so he didn’t think anything of it this particular evening. It was just like any other, except the younger boy stopped as he came back into the living room and tilted his head at the sight this night. He had already laid out the blankets and pillow, just like usual, but all of that had been undone while he was out of the room. Rather, Louis was perched on the closest cushion with all of the now folded blankets held in his lap, Harry’s pillow resting on top. 

“Erm,” Harry started and cleared his throat to get the older boy’s attention. He furrowed his brow when Louis looked toward him. “Something wrong with those blankets?” 

Louis smiled, a mischievous grin of sorts, and shook his head. “Not necessarily wrong,” he replied, shrugged a shoulder. “Just not needed.” 

“Not…” Harry frowned, taking a second. “Needed?” 

The older boy’s lips tugged back into a smirk. “Not tonight, anyway.” 

Harry blinked in confusion—once, twice, three times—and then shook his head, still at a loss. “Sorry?” 

Louis laughed, a soft, not unkind sound, and stood from the sofa. He placed the pillow and folded blankets atop the cushion he had been sitting on and crossed the room, coming up to Harry with a tiny smile. Blue found green then, catching it in the warm lamp light that flooded the room, and held on for a long moment, lasting and lasting until Louis’ lips tricked upward with a brighter grin. “Don’t sleep on the sofa tonight,” he said, his voice gentle—hesitant. His eyes dropped toward the floor for all of an uncertain second, but he looked up a moment later, lips bitten. His hand slipped into Harry’s then, just a gentle pressure, and he cocked his head toward the hall, ending his thoughts with nothing more than a smile. 

It took Harry a moment, took his thoughts a moment to catch up, a second for his heart to stutter, his stomach to twist into an impossible knot. “You mean…” He spared the abandoned sofa a quick glance before looking back to Louis, and he swallowed thickly, shook his head only because he felt he couldn’t agree. “Lou, I’m fine on the sofa—”

“Not really.”

“I’ve told you, I don’t mind—” 

“Harry.” 

And Harry stopped his words, gulped them down and listened because he still liked the way his name sounded when it fell from this boy’s lips. It reminded him, sent his mind racing back to that first day he had shown up at the flat to return Louis’ wallet. The way Louis said his name, smiled at him with a reserved sort of fondness, rooted Harry to his spot, even as the older boy turned with one last look and began walking down the hallway. 

Louis was already well out of sight when he called back, “Come on, Harry, you’re not going to stand there all day, are you?” 

The younger boy hesitated for a second, uncertain, mouth opening and closing as he remained half stuck in the past, remembering hearing those words on the very first day. He finally stammered out a negative response, like he had in the past, but held back, barely moving a step in fear he misunderstood. 

He didn’t really move at all until Louis popped his head back around the corner, peeking back into the living room. “So come on, then,” he encouraged, not impatiently. 

But Harry just sucked in his lower lip and dropped his eyes to his bare toes. “But I don’t,” he started, shook his head as he rubbed at the back of his neck. “I don’t need it.” 

“I know,” Louis said and smiled, almost like he’d been expecting it all along. “But I want you there, alright?” 

Harry thought to protest, maybe let something slip about how that doesn’t mean he needs to take over Louis’ bed. But a second ticked by unused, and when he swallowed it felt like his heart was beating in his throat. And Louis was looking at him with eyes that shone a shade darker than usual but a smile too sweet to suggest even the slightest. That night, Harry saw the kind stranger who had first opened his door to him months before, but he saw more than that, too—he saw Louis, _Lou_ , smiling at him and asking him to spend the night with him instead of on the sofa. 

Whatever words had been itching along Harry’s tongue were drowned with the thrill that scampered down his spine, and he was nodding before his thoughts could turn him away. “Alright,” he eventually replied, his voice low to match the night. 

Louis’ features seemed to slacken at first, as though taken aback, but he schooled them a moment later, smile pinching his lips. “Alright,” he said. 

And Harry tried not to think too much as he followed the older boy into the bedroom he had now half moved into—half of the closet was filled with his clothes, nearly half of the drawers were somehow filled with things that belonged to him, half of the laundry was his. His same old backpack was thrown in the corner, now mostly forgotten, and most of the odds and ends strewn about the dresser top—beanies, simple necklaces, a few paperbacks—were touched more often by him than by Louis. If he looked around and noticed how much his presence had settled in, he might have thought it only the next step for him to settle in alongside it. 

But he tried not to think about it, tried not to think about how easy it felt as he slid into the space he’d occupied only once before, as Louis pulled him in for kiss just seconds after lying down. He tried not to overthink it, to overanalyze how and when they’d gotten here, to when exactly he’d decided he really, really liked the feel of Louis’ hand wrapped in his own. 

Harry tried not to think as the room was plunged into darkness. He tried to focus on the growingly familiar touch of Louis’ lips against his own, on the excitement that thrummed low in his stomach. It was new and unfamiliar and equally as terrifying as it was exhilarating; Harry couldn’t decide if he wanted more, or if he just really needed a moment to breathe. 

Louis decided for him, though, pulling back a few seconds later. His lips were slick as they curved into a lazy smile, seeming to somehow glisten in the dark room. He settled back against his own pillow, too many inches put between them, but his fingers were still intertwined with Harry’s, lost under the sheets. Louis tightened his hold like a pulse, like he often did, like he was asking for assurance while anchoring Harry at the same time, keeping him there. Harry liked that. 

“Goodnight,” Louis said after a lengthy moment, a smile still stuck to his lips. Harry nodded against his pillow, though his heart was thumping too fast for sleep to come anytime soon, but he didn’t think that was a bad thing. Rather, it left him biting back a grin as he replied with a goodnight of his own. 

But neither of them closed their eyes or turned away. They stayed facing each other, hands locked and eyes searching in the minutes that dragged on after that. They stayed like that for a while, blue and green running together to evade slumber altogether. 

Harry lost count of the minutes that passed like that—silent but somehow loud, wordless but full. It felt like no time at all when Louis’ yawns grew too close together, when his eyes started to close against his will. It made Harry’s chest tighten, knowing that Louis was trying to hold on at all. So he told Louis goodnight once more, squeezed his hand, and pressed a kiss to his lips after a moment of debate. The older boy didn’t respond, and Harry listened as his breaths evened out, tried to match it, but his thoughts were still too distracting. 

Sleep felt far away as he lay in Louis’ bed that night, but this time it wasn’t due to thoughts riled up with fear and plagued with unpleasant memories; this time it was because he was happy—too happy to settle down, too excited for the possibilities of what his future might bring. 

Instead of counting sheep that night, Harry counted the days he had been back at the flat. He got to 54 before finally going under. 

It had been 93 days. 

**

_hiya haz !_

Harry smiled at the text that lit up his screen and made the phone buzz in his hand. He had only added one number to his contacts so far (George—as George had been the one to pester Harry into finally, _finally_ getting the cheapest, simplest mobile phone available), but he knew who the text was from without even knowing the number. He opened the message, saved the contact under _Lou_ , and exited out. 

“You know,” he said, pocketing the phone and looking up, “I think sending a text to a person in the same room is kind of defeating the entire purpose, isn’t it?” 

The other boys in the living room—Louis, Niall, Zayn, and Josh—all scoffed at the statement, and Harry’s phone buzzed five different times in his pocket. He only sighed, realizing he should’ve known better, and left the messages for later, much to his friends’ annoyance. 

By the end of the day, Harry had a handful of numbers stored and an inbox full of stupid smiley faces from George and caps locked messages from Niall. He thought about deleting them, even brought up the option because what would even be the point of keeping them? But he saved them all, even if just for now. 

He was curled up on “his side” of Louis’ bed that night, alone while Louis brushed his teeth, when he clicked back into his contacts. Chewing his lower lip, he brought up the screen to add a new contact after a moment’s hesitation. His head was swimming with numbers, lines of them he’d remembered since he was a child, ones he could still ramble off from heart without even a second thought. He thought, for a moment, about adding in all of them, just to have them there, but instead he just punched in the most familiar number of all—the number he’s had memorized since he was four years old, the one he’s had to write down so many times on so many forms it’d be impossible to ever forget. 

But he paused when he went to fill in the name of the contact. The cursor blinked at him in wait, and the screen was about to turn off by the time he keyed in _Home_. 

But—

No, he shook his head, backspaced the entire line just to retype: _Home?_

But no, no, that wasn’t—that wouldn’t do either. He bit on his bottom lip even harder as he erased the name, paused for even a longer moment, and tried: _Mum_. 

But that felt wrong, almost, in a way like he were adding a term too affectionate to someone much too like a stranger. 

But _Parents_ even felt too personal. 

_Anne_ just felt weird. 

Louis was already walking back into the room and going to turn off the light when Harry took a deep breath, punched in _just in case_ , and saved the contact before he could think himself into deleting it entirely. 

Because that’s the only reason he’d added the number at all—just in case. 

~*~


	16. Settled: Simple

Chapter Fifteen  
Settled: Simple

Harry let out a soft sigh as he flipped a slice of bacon. It wasn’t a tired sigh or one of disappointment, but one more of relief. Relief to be settled, he might have thought. But as things were, Harry wasn’t spending this Saturday morning analyzing his breathing or digging deep into his thoughts. He wasn’t drowning in worries or fighting to stay afloat. 

He was, in the simplest of words, settled. 

This Saturday morning, like many others, was growing into a routine of sorts. Harry would wake early, usually to the flat still motionless under slumber, lazing its way into the weekend, and take his time meandering into the kitchen. Before Louis or Zayn could even stumble out of their bedrooms, he would have breakfast started and the radio turned on to a low volume, tuned into a station of oldies. It was simple, in the nicest of ways, like a breath of fresh air. Everything was falling into place, it seemed, routine becoming comfortable, and Harry was okay with that. 

Harry was okay, even, when Louis would come into the kitchen sometime later, often once the bacon was put on the stove. The older boy had a tendency to come up behind Harry, wrap his arms around Harry’s waist, and rest his cheek against the younger boy’s shoulder. Some mornings, like this one, he’d throw in a comment about the food, give Harry’s neck or cheek a quick kiss, and hook his chin over the younger boy’s shoulder to watch him finish up. 

It made Harry’s stomach erupt with butterflies. 

Mostly, though, Harry never knew how to respond. He didn’t know what was appropriate, didn’t know what actions were considered proper at this stage of the game. Was it just that – a game? He hoped it wasn’t, didn’t think these knots in his stomach or the tightness in his chest could handle that. It didn’t feel like a game, though. It didn’t. It felt like more than that, it really did, especially when Louis would murmur quiet phrases like, “You’re pretty great, you know that?” or even “Don’t know what we’d do without you here, Haz,” against Harry’s shoulder. 

It didn’t feel like a game, which only made Harry’s nerves all that more worse. He didn’t want to make a wrong move or not do or say something when he should have. He didn’t want to blow it when things had barely even started. 

So with Louis’ chin still hooked over his shoulder that Saturday morning, Harry froze for a moment. He wasn’t sure if he could cage Louis in against the counter and kiss him good morning the way part of him really, _really_ wanted to, didn’t know if that would be too much, too strong for such an early encounter. He thought maybe it might be, especially with Zayn sitting just a few paces away. 

Rather, Harry opted for something simpler, safer. He laced his fingers through Louis’, where they rested low on his hip, and offered an easy, “Good morning.”

Louis squeezed his hand right back, a gentle reassurance, and replied, “Morning, Harry.” 

Maybe it wasn’t much, just an instinctive, courteous reply, but Harry could feel Louis’ lips curling into a smile against the side of his neck and that—that had Harry fighting back a grin like it was Christmas morning. 

**

“So, you two are, like, a proper couple now?” George asked, tipping his chair back onto its hind legs. He let one foot dangle with the motion and raised a curious brow at Harry over the rim of his plastic cup. This was a thing that was also becoming routine—George would pop in during one of Harry’s shifts at the shop, bearing two cups of coffee (mostly frozen nowadays, as the weather grew warmer), a wide grin, and the patience of a saint. 

Harry sighed, peeling off another price sticker from a CD case before responding. “I… I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know?” George laughed, but it wasn’t mean, just laced with confusion. “How do you not know?” 

“I don’t know,” Harry said again and shrugged, kept his eyes trained on the case in his hands. He could feel his cheeks flaming with a blush, burning so bright it felt like he were sat in the sun. “We just,” he started and then stopped, frowning. “We haven’t done much or… talked about it? Lou’s been busy with his classes ending and worrying about his exams. And I’m here a lot, while he’s off revising, and I’ve barely seen him this week.” Something struck him then, and he glanced toward George with a furrowed brow. “Is that… I don’t know, is that weird?” 

George laughed again, shaking his head. “What? Not seeing much of him? Harry, you’re both busy, that’s natural.” 

“Yeah, but—” Harry cut himself off with another sigh. The thing was, he didn’t know what he was doing. He felt like he was floundering, to be quite honest, uncertain at every turn, never sure what to expect. Part of him found it exciting, like always waiting for a surprise, but the rest of him was scared. He was 18, though, _eighteen_ and he was scared because he’d never—“I’ve never done this before,” he admitted, voice quiet in the shop that Wednesday afternoon. 

“Never done what?” George wondered in turn, offhandedly and not looking up from his cup as he dug at some of the remaining ice. 

“Like this… with Louis,” Harry stammered out in reply, felt the tips of his ears burning with a furious blush. He didn’t dare look up from the bright yellow sticker he was peeling off a case when he finished explaining, “I’ve never been in a relationship before?” It came out like a question, like he wasn’t even sure of it himself, and he bit down hard on his tongue to keep himself from saying anymore. 

He heard George’s chair drop back down onto all fours, but he still didn’t look up, not even when the older of the two let out a bewildered sounding chuckle. “Never?” George asked, sounding more surprised than patronizing. 

Harry spared one fleeting glance in George’s direction and answered with nothing more than a stiff shake of the head, lip still held snug between his teeth. 

“Never,” George repeated it like an echo, and there was a laugh bubbling through his voice now, stirring his words into a giggle fit until Harry turned toward him with a glare. “Sorry, sorry!” George got out, laughter still shaking his shoulders. “Sorry, Harry, I’m not—really, I’m not, I just, wow? I mean don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t look like, I don’t know, I just never would have guessed it?” 

“Yeah, well.” The curly-haired boy shrugged again, scraping off the remains of the sticker, and continued quietly, “My family wasn’t exactly… Supportive.” 

“Right.” George smiled lopsidedly, sheepishly. He’d only just found out recently about Harry’s reason for leaving home, and he continued to step around the topic like it were still a fresh wound. And it was, in many ways, but Harry was learning to treat it like it wasn’t, was learning to treat it like just another facet of his past. George looked toward him with a guilty expression, though, his smile turning uneasy. “I guess that makes sense, then, yeah? I mean with your family and your whole community, really, right?” 

Harry nodded again, still chewing on his lower lip. “Yeah, so, erm…”

A minute passed by, Harry unsure of how to word his thoughts without sounding like a total knob, when George shrugged. 

“So it’s all new to you,” he said. “No big deal, yeah?”

Harry shrugged, too, wished he could agree. It felt like a big deal, though. Like a stupidly big deal. Even his neck was burning just talking about this— _admitting_ this. 

“Harry, it’s not, honest.” George smiled something soft and placed his nearly empty cup on the tabletop. “Gotta start somewhere, right?” 

The curly-haired boy hummed noncommittally and focused on aligning a new price sticker. He had a whole pile of worries stacked up in his throat, embarrassment lying idle on his skin, but he didn’t feel like voicing anymore of his concerns. 

George seemed to read his mind, though. “Louis won’t care either, you know,” he added, his voice even quieter as he spared a glance around the shop. There was a cluster of young teenagers across the way, laughing as they previewed some albums, a couple near the historical books at the back of the shop, and a few lone customers wandering through the aisles, but they were all caught up in their own conversations or lost in thought, not paying Harry and George any mind. George came closer, anyway, leaving behind his chair in favor of crowding next to Harry. An honest sort of smile clung to his lips. “If he does mind, he’s an arse. But from all the _glowing_ words you’ve got to say about the guy, I’ve a pretty good feeling he’s not.” 

“He’s not an arse,” Harry murmured in confirmation because it begged repeating. 

“Right.” George laughed, nearly giggled, and rolled his eyes, bumping his hip against Harry’s. “God, you’re sickeningly smitten.” 

Harry felt his cheeks roaring with another blush, but he didn’t deny it. 

“You know what I think?” George started, mindlessly picking up one of the albums Harry was relabeling. 

“Hmm?”

“You should ask him out.” 

Harry snorted, pulling a face as he placed another price sticker. “We’ve gone out before.” 

“Yeah, but not all proper-like, just you two, not since your whole little courting ritual has begun,” the older boy explained, and Harry chuckled at his word choice. “Aw, c’mon, it’ll be great. Besides, it’ll make things a bit clearer between the two of you, innit?” 

Which, well, _maybe_ , Harry thought, though his palms were already beginning to sweat just thinking about it. His stomach was knotting up, but at the same time… “I guess it couldn’t hurt.” 

George nudged Harry’s shoulder with his own, grinning. “Exactly. Now,” he paused, clapped his hands together as he switched gears entirely, “you’re still coming by mine after work, yeah? My mate’s been dying to meet you. Sometimes she thinks you don’t even exist.” 

Harry laughed, his stomach settled—no more butterflies fluttering at the prospect of the future, no more knots tying themselves with worry—and nodded his agreements. “Yeah, ‘course,” he said, easily. Too easily, almost. It felt out of place, just a bit, making simple plans with friends. It felt maybe, just a little bit, like how things used to be. 

**

“I can’t read anymore,” Louis declared, quite loudly overtop the muted silence in the living room. 

Harry glanced up from his spot on the floor, nestled against the couch with a book in his lap. His book— _I Wrote This for You_ —was rather different from the text about cognition and memory that Louis was struggling over. Harry let his book fall shut around his thumb in favor of sparing Louis a lopsided smile. “Break time?” he offered, lifting a brow. 

Louis frowned at the suggestion. “But I need to study.” 

“You can afford a fifteen minute break,” Harry assured him, taking a moment to set his book aside before taking it upon himself to do the same with Louis’ textbook. The older boy pouted at him, almost pathetically, but Harry only smiled, moved his notebook and pencil to the coffee table as well. “You can,” he repeated. 

“You’ve way too much faith in me, Haz.” 

Harry shook his head, sitting down next to Louis, close enough that their hips touched. Louis didn’t seem to mind it. In fact, Louis sank a little closer once Harry was next to him, sinking into his side. 

“You’ve done brilliantly so far this term,” Harry explained, shrugging easily. “Why should you struggle now?” 

“Because I’ve forgotten _everything_.” Louis groaned miserably and didn’t even act ashamed as he hid his face in Harry’s shoulder. He whimpered, and Harry bit back a chuckle. “Take my exam for me?” 

“You don’t want that,” Harry admitted, giving Louis’ knee a quick squeeze and relaxing against the cushions. 

Louis didn’t disagree, instead only nuzzled a little closer while reaching for the remote to switch the television off mute. “Fine,” he resolved, sounding disgruntled but not moving so much as an inch away. “Laugh at my misfortune and my brain’s inability to retain knowledge and information about fucking _information retention_ , but at least help me find something mind numbing to watch on the telly and be my pillow for the next fifteen minutes.” 

A smile twitched at Harry’s lips. “I can do that,” he said and sunk a little lower into the couch, resting his arm along the back of the sofa so Louis could fall in a little closer. The older boy hummed a gentle note of approval, and Harry fought off the heat that surged straight to his cheeks. _Honestly._

They flipped through the channels aimlessly, Louis sneering at most of the shows until begrudgingly settling for a _Kitchen Nightmares_ episode he had already seen twice. “Fine. Even more mind numbing, then,” he said. “Which is good. I don’t feel like following along anyway.” He sighed, and Harry could feel his body loosen beside him with the breath. Louis adjusted his head against Harry’s shoulder, and the younger boy felt the tips of his ears burning when lips pressed—just fleetingly—against the base of his throat, right above his collar bone. It was just a light touch, barely even there. It might have even been accidental. But when Harry let his arm fall around Louis’ shoulders and the touch happened again, it certainly wasn’t an accident. 

But that’s all it was—a light brush of lips against skin and Louis snuggled close against his side, head finding its place right under his chin. Harry felt his heart racing, _thumping_. He only hoped Louis couldn’t feel it. Part of him worried Louis might hear it; it sounded like it was echoing in Harry’s ears. 

But Louis showed no signs of hearing Harry’s rushing heart, or feeling his racing chest beneath his cheek. Rather, the older boy chuckled at one of the ads on TV, jarring Harry’s attention away from his heightened nerves. A trailer for a new comedy was playing on screen, and Louis was rumbling with laughter against Harry’s side, short exhales escaping against his collarbone. Harry found himself laughing, too, even though he’d missed the punch line entirely. 

“That one’s going to be brilliant,” Louis commented as the film’s title and release date flashed on screen. “Can never go wrong with Simon Pegg.” 

Harry hummed in agreement but said no more as the ads switched and Louis settled back against him. But his mind was swimming—the film came out on Friday, just a day away. The same day Louis finished up his term and all of his assignments and exams. His mind was racing his heart, he thought. Harry wiped his palm against the thigh of his joggers and cleared his throat. 

Two commercials had passed already. 

“We should – we could go see it,” Harry added belatedly, his gaze locked on the television. “Together, I mean. If you want to. We don’t have to, but if you’d… I’d like to, if you’d like to.” 

Harry’s cheeks were flaming by the time he got the last word out, and it felt like his heart stopped beating entirely as Louis shifted against him. The older boy pulled away, sitting up just enough to level him with a curious look. A smile flashed across his lips, though, pleased and teasing and maybe even a little bit stunned. 

“Are you asking me out on a date, Harry?” Louis wondered, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. 

The younger boy swallowed, thick and hard, and let his eyes fall into Louis’ for a moment before answering. Blue looked too wide and open to be harboring a careless dismissal, and so Harry let the first words that came to mind to fall from his tongue. “I—yes.” 

Louis looked surprised for a moment, impressed maybe, his jaw shifting and eyes calculating. But a second later and he clamped his jaw shut with a smile and nodded. “Yeah, alright,” he agreed, smile breaking into a grin. “I’d like that.” 

**  
 _  
zayn told me u asked lou out ??? hazzaaaaaaaa!_

_where u going t take him?_

_fancy dinner? or u cooking?_

_do ya need a suit and tie?? you can borrow mine if u need t_

_can i take pics bforehand_

“You told Niall,” Harry commented and turned his attention back to his plate of pasta. 

Zayn snorted across the table. “Sorry, mate. He being a little too over excited?” 

Harry shrugged; Niall was always excited, it seemed. It’s just who he was, and Harry kind of loved him for it—his carefree demeanor brought Harry out of even the worst moods. But he was blushing at all this excitement Niall had. “It’s just a _date_ ,” Harry said, voice low as he spoke down toward his plate. “He’s acting like it’s a… I don’t know, something, erm, a lot more important?” 

Zayn laughed again, not at all looking surprised. “What’s he asking?” 

“He wants to take pictures.” Harry grimaced. 

“Ah,” Zayn drew out it, nodding his head with a grin as he leaned back in his chair. “Ni loves documenting things like this. Calls ‘em milestones or something, I don’t know, but he insists on snapping pics all the time. _To remember_ , he always says. It’s… I don’t know,” he cut off, shrugging. “The sentiment’s nice.” 

“It is,” Harry couldn’t disagree, but at the same time it felt too… It felt over the top. Too much. Like a mom wanting to remember her child’s first school dance, to reminisce over in twenty years. That thought sat oddly with Harry. He didn’t know where he’d be in twenty years, what he might be doing, who might still be around in his life, and the idea of Niall or Louis or anyone, really, sitting around and glancing at old pictures of dates and good times—it made his chest feel too heavy, like someone had replaced his heart with a cold, hefty anchor and expected him still to stand. He pressed at his chest absently, trying to push away the anomalous ache, and was thankful when his phone vibrated against the table.  
 _  
i'm srs about the pics_

Zayn smirked. 

**

Harry checked the time on his phone for the seventh time in the past five minutes. It’s not that he was impatient, because he wasn’t. He knew he was early, standing outside the building where Louis had his final exam, and he knew he would be waiting for another twenty minutes, at least. He wasn’t impatient, he just. 

Waiting on streets anymore made him antsy. 

It made his fingers twitch, made him hyperaware of everyone around him, made him worry again about where he might be able to sleep that night or how he might manage lunch or dinner or just something to drink. It was irrational to think like that now, what with a flat he could call his own, a job, people who had opened up their home to him without hesitation. But that lick of fright still itched at his mind whenever he was out on the streets, alone, lost in a crowd. Maybe it was irrational, but he still felt like he was scrambling in those moments. Scrambling for something to hold onto. 

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Harry relaxed against one of the planters out front of the building. He leaned against it, crossed his legs at the ankle, and tried not to think about how the bench right outside the entrance, tucked away beneath cover, would be a nice place to take shelter for a few hours. He shook out his curls, shook away the thought, and willed his nerves to calm. 

It was silly, he knew. Silly that he was so antsy just by standing outside near the curb, standing alone as people walked past without a glance in his direction. It was silly that he felt lost, floundering, that somehow these thoughts overtook him so much so while he was waiting outside the academic building that he jumped when a familiar voice called out his name minutes later. 

“Harry?” it wondered, a note of surprise in the late spring breeze. 

Harry’s body relaxed at the voice, heart slowing and then kicking back up for a different reason entirely. He blinked and found Louis descending the front steps, coming his way with a confused sort of smile filling his face. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked once he was close enough. 

Thoughts about the streets were gone almost immediately. Any worries about where he might sleep, how he might eat, where he could hide dissipated, and green folded into blue with a sense of familiarity. Harry took a breath that came easy in his lungs, and his lips curved with a simple smile. “Thought I’d surprise you,” he managed to get out on one try. “Did it work?” 

He thought Louis’ eyes twinkled in the sunlight. They’d never looked quite so blue, or maybe it was down to the lack of distance between them as the older boy drew him close. “Did alright, I guess,” he teased, and Harry kind of really liked how the skin beside Louis’ eyes wrinkled when he grinned. 

Maybe it was the sound of Louis chuckling in the middle of the afternoon, or maybe it was the calmness that had settled in Harry’s mind with the other boy this near, but Harry didn’t even hesitate before he ducked his head just enough to catch Louis’ lips with his own. 

The older boy startled, probably surprised—probably more surprised than finding Harry waiting outside his final exam. He kissed Harry back but kept it short, pulling away with a chuckling smile. 

“Okay, okay, okay,” he murmured, a pinch of color clinging to his cheeks as he spared a glance to the side. “You’re definitely winning in the surprise department, Haz. What’s next, a rabbit in a hat?” 

It sounded like a joke, but his lips were curved with a smile and his skin was flushed and he kept glancing around like maybe he were a little bit embarrassed at kissing in the middle of the sidewalk on a Friday afternoon. It made Harry’s chest hammer and it felt almost like a victory—a small victory, like jumping the first hurdle, making it down the bunny hill—and he grinned something spectacular, pressing his lips lightly against Louis’ cheek in a last touch. 

“Exam go alright?” he asked, letting the moment pass. 

Louis’ features softened, and he stopped sparing glances to the side. “It, um,” he started, shook his head and then seemed to come back around with a simpler smile, “went alright, actually, I think.” 

“Good.” Harry felt another knot unravel in his stomach. Relief. He hadn’t realized he was nervous. 

“Yeah. Glad it’s over.” Louis quirked his head to the side, then, lifting a brow. “How’d you know where my exam was, anyway?” 

Harry shrugged, tried to reign in his smile. “Zayn knows your schedule.” 

“He give you a lift down here, too?”

“Maybe.”

“Ah, betrayed by the best mate.” Louis shook his head in feigned dismay. “Should’ve known.” 

“Betrayed, huh?”

“Well.” Louis tipped his head to the other side, his grin wider than before. “Depends.”

“On?”

The older boy hummed, lips still tricked up with humor. “It’s betrayal if he gave you all that information and now you’re planning on just starting our date without even letting me drop off my bag at the flat beforehand. But,” he paused just long enough for a chuckle, “if we’re stopping at home first, then I suppose I can let it slide.” 

“Then Zayn’s in luck,” Harry said and pushed away the pinch of worry that had crawled up the back of his neck. “We’ve got to stop by the flat beforehand anyway.” 

“More surprises?” Louis wondered and nodded down the street, toward the car park. 

“Not really,” Harry answered, not even stammering when Louis weaved their fingers together as they walked. _Little steps_ , he thought. He considered it a success whenever his cheeks weren’t burning. He took a deep breath, willed his beating heart to slow, and squeezed Louis’ hand on his exhale. “Niall’s orders, actually.” 

Louis pulled a face. “ _Niall_?” 

“Yeah, he, erm, wants to take pictures?” It came out like a question, but he was laughing as Louis groaned at the explanation. 

The older boy shook his head, his distaste clear on his features as they approached the car. “I already feel for Niall’s future kids,” he admitted as he circled to the driver’s side. “Poor babes are going to be chronically embarrassed.” He sounded sad and annoyed at the fact that the embarrassment currently rested on them, but Harry didn’t miss the slight tip of Louis’ lips—like maybe he were actually rather pleased. 

**

“I still think you lads should go black tie.” 

“Niall, we’re not wearing suits to see a fucking film!” Louis called from the other room, receiving a chorus of laughter in the living room. 

“Yeah, babe, suit and tie is a little too overdressed for the cinema,” Zayn agreed from his spot at the kitchen island, facing the living room. 

Niall frowned as he continued fiddling with the settings on his digital camera. It was some fancy thing, actually, much more complicated than any Harry had ever seen, and it was much too fancy for such a small occasion. Phone pics would’ve sufficed—even Louis had agreed—but Niall had _insisted_. 

“It’s not about the dress code,” Niall tried to explain, furrowing his brow as he clicked something on the camera. He glared at the display. “It’s about the sentiment.” 

“And what’s that?” Louis asked as he meandered back into the living room, pulling on a denim jacket over his t-shirt. It was mid-May already, but the evenings were still cool. 

“That this is something _special_ ,” Niall specified and threw his arms up in exasperation like it were meant to obvious. “Christ, and you’re just wearing a denim jacket? That thing looks like it’s been in the wash for 16 years!” 

Louis frowned, gave his jacket a once over. “I happen to like this jacket, actually.” 

“And it’s called fashion, Ni,” Zayn said as he hopped down from his stool and came over to wrap an arm around Niall’s shoulders. He pressed a kiss to other boy’s temple. “Something I’m afraid you still can’t seem to grasp.” 

Niall shoved Zayn off, but he was spluttering on a laugh and taming a smile all the same. “Bugger off, you know I dress for comfort.” 

Zayn hummed something teasing and stayed near, peeking over Niall’s shoulder as the blonde finished messing with the camera. 

“Oh, is our photographer finally ready?” Louis asked.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Niall answered, flipped him off with one finger over the camera. “You plan on standing from that sofa, little Hazza, or we gonna just take a few shots of you two lazing about the living room like any other freaking evening?” Harry could’ve sworn he heard the blond boy scoff _romantic_ under his breath. 

Harry laughed and pushed himself from the sofa, surrendering, “I’m up, I’m up,” as he went. 

“We’re not doing ten different poses,” Louis decided and tugged Harry toward the door before the younger boy had really even caught his balance. “It’s bad enough you’ve got us cornered for photos in the first place.” 

“You could’ve said no,” Niall offered, but Louis just gave him a knowing look and shook his head. 

“You would’ve found a way.” 

A smirk tugged at Niall’s lips. “Yeah, probably.” He snorted and then motioned toward Louis and Harry with the camera. “Now budge up, the two of you. Don’t look so _embarrassed_ , Jesus Christ, it’s just a picture.”

 _Just a picture_ , Harry repeated and tried to ignore the little lurch in his chest when Louis spared him an anxious sort of grin—one that seemed to say, _might as well, yeah?_ —and wrapped an arm snug around his waist. A deep breath and Harry did the same, his arm settling easily around Louis’ shoulders as a smile swept wide across his lips. 

_Just a picture._

**

And Harry tried to repeat similar phrases to himself as the night went on— _it’s just dinner, it’s just a film, it’s just a date, it’s just Louis_. Funny, he thought, how only the last one seemed to have any sort of calming effect on his taut nerves. _It’s just Louis._

It was a comforting thought, too, when they were in line and Louis pouted at Harry when he insisted on buying the tickets but smiled in a familiar way. Harry tried to pay for the popcorn and drinks, too, but Louis had twenty quid on the counter before Harry could even free his wallet from his pocket. It was teasing, the look Louis gave him, waggled his brows at him in something like victory, and it was familiar enough that Harry’s heart stopped racing quite so quickly. _It’s just Louis._

When they settled into their seats, early enough that the previews hadn’t even started, and their elbows touched on the armrest, it was just Louis. It wasn’t some big unknown, even if a blush blossomed across Harry’s cheeks whenever Louis leant over to whisper a comment in his ear. 

And when the lights dimmed, it wasn’t some big, frightening moment, either. It was just Louis sitting close to his side, one foot hooked loosely around Harry’s ankle so that their knees kissed. It was just Louis, chuckling beside him like any other evening, but Harry couldn’t help but think that laughter sounded sweeter than before. It was just Louis, whose hand kept brushing against Harry’s when they both reached into the bag of popcorn at the same time. 

It felt simple. 

Easy. 

Right, in a way, when they set the popcorn aside and their hands found each other easily in the darkness, fingers weaving together. This wasn’t new—holding hands—but it felt a little different than usual, a little more… special, perhaps. But Harry didn’t dwell on it the whole time, instead let his mind focus on the film and the characters. Smiles and laughter flowed naturally, and when Louis broke the connection to cover his mouth with his hand to stifle his laughter, Harry didn’t panic, didn’t worry, just laughed alongside him and tried not to spend more time staring at Louis than at the screen. 

“ _Pay attention, you goofball_ ,” Louis would admonish in a whisper if he caught Harry staring, but he never looked upset. He looked, Harry thought, amused and maybe even a little bit glad. It made Harry’s stomach swarm with butterflies. 

When the credits were rolling and the lights brightened, Harry turned to find Louis already staring at him. His head was tilted just slightly to the side, fringe just brushing into his eyes, and his lips were pulled back with a slight smile. He was staring so intently that Harry had to ask, “What?” 

Louis’ smile flashed into a smirk, and he shook his head. “Nothing,” he said, let out an audible breath as he stood and held out his hand. “Back to the flat?” 

Harry’s heart might have skipped a beat, but he nodded and took Louis’ hand in his, wrapping their fingers together. It worked. It was just Louis. It made Harry’s heart thump a little harder in his chest, and he bit back a smile as they meandered their way out through the seats and out of the cinema. 

They were quiet in the car afterward, just exchanging light conversation about the film, humming along to the radio singing, laughing when Louis belted along to the chorus but screwed up the lyrics entirely. It was one of those moments, when you get stuck laughing and laughing because you’re laughing over something that wasn’t even that funny in the first place but you just can’t stop. They were still laughing, minutes later, when Louis pulled into the spot out front, when Harry circled around to the driver’s side and helped him out in the midst of their laughter. 

“I can open the car door myself, you know,” Louis remarked, but he was still chuckling on an exhale. 

Harry was still laughing, too, even as he closed the door behind him. “I was trying to be a gentleman, Lou.” 

Louis hummed in understanding as he turned around, meeting Harry with a playful smile. “That mean you’re going to walk me to my door, too?”

If asked at a later date why he did what he did next, Harry would blame it on the laughter still bubbling across his tongue and the exhilaration still driving through his veins, thumping through his entire body. He’d blame it on the fog hanging over his head, the way his eyes couldn’t quite seem to focus on anything other than the boy in front of him. He’d blame it on the hitch in his breath when he took a step forward, and then another and then one more, his pulse an encouraging beat to his step. He’d blame it on the hint of summer melting into the night breeze of late spring, tickling his bare arms, the back of his neck, hitting his skin in tiny sparks. 

He’d blame it on the stars if he could, because he felt drunk when his hands found their way to Louis’ hips and he could feel Louis’ breath on his skin and blue met green like it had so many times before. 

He wasn’t laughing anymore, not with Louis’ gaze dropping to his mouth, not with a hand inching up the chest of his shirt. Blue eyes flickered back to his. 

“Do I have to wait till we get to your door to kiss you goodnight?” he wondered, and this close he could see the way Louis’ lips just barely tricked upward with a laugh. 

Louis shook his head. “I won’t tell if you won’t,” he replied, and his pupils were blown wide in a way that made Harry think that maybe he were a little drunk, too. Drunk on the night, on the stars, on the touch of their noses, on the moment crawling in around them. 

“Good,” Harry let fall from his lips but didn’t let the word settle before he brought their mouths together. Maybe it were the haze all around him, the electric feel to his skin, the way Louis leaned into him, but Harry didn’t blush. His heart might have felt like it jumped in its cavity, his stomach might have felt like it were fluttering, but Harry didn’t hesitate as he parted his lips, let the kiss deepen, let his tongue test the taste of Louis’ mouth, the curve of his lips, the line of his teeth. 

_Little steps_ , maybe, but he felt that pool of heat, that low thrum of excitement, all the same when Louis caught his lower lip between his teeth and tugged just enough. Just enough for Harry to crash their mouths back together a moment later, just enough for Harry to maybe forget that they were still stood in the middle of the walk altogether. 

It didn’t help, either, when a hand slipped into his curls and his mouth fell a little farther open, mind blanking out for just a handful of seconds. He moaned just a gentle hum and drew Louis a little closer, his fingers fanning out along Louis’ sides, having snuck up beneath his denim jacket, beneath his white t-shirt, flat against his cool skin. He could feel Louis’ muscles tighten beneath his fingers, could feel the small bumps rise against his skin, and he pressed a little closer despite himself, despite the night, despite that they were very much still in public. 

None of that really mattered when his thought of _it’s just Louis_ fell to a rambling of _LouisLouisLouisLou_ , when his thoughts fell to the wayside altogether. Louis was pressing back against him, just licking into his mouth, when reality broke them apart. 

“Oi, you two!” a voice shattered the moment, sobering. 

Harry blinked hard several times, blinked away from Louis to find Niall and Zayn poking their heads out of the living room window on the second story. They were both grinning wide and unabashed, enjoying this moment far more than they should. 

“Get a room, ya fuckers!” Niall continued, chuckling around his words. “That’s nothing for the public eye.” 

“Or for a first date,” Zayn added, much softer but clearly just as amused. His dark eyes were shining.

Niall frowned, though, turned toward the boy beside him with a furrowed brow. “But on our first date we even—” 

Zayn clapped a hand over Niall’s mouth, his eyes wide. “Okay, okay, Niall, that’s nothing to share with an open window,” Zayn said, just loud enough to still be heard. It sounded like Niall mumbled something, but Zayn just shook his head and spared them another grin. “You two, um, take your time,” he settled before disappearing from the window and dragging Niall with him. 

Louis groaned a second later and dropped his forehead to Harry’s shoulder. “Leave it to Niall,” he muttered but laughed all the same. 

Harry didn’t know what to say, the fog finally lifting. His heart was hammering in his chest still and he scrambled for something to say, something to do, and he eventually settled for pressing a kiss to Louis’ hair and mumbling, “Inside?” 

The older boy hesitated but nodded, lifting his head. A smile clung to his lips. “Inside,” he agreed. 

So Harry untangled himself from Louis enough to walk up the front path, but he kept a hand light on the small of Louis’ back, just beneath his denim jacket. Louis didn’t brush him away, even inched a little closer as they walked. 

Niall grilled them with questions as soon as they walked through the door, effectively winning blushes from both of them within two minutes. Zayn steered him away, though, dragging him into the kitchen on the pretense of having something just for him and leaving Louis and Harry alone. They hesitated for a moment, sharing a couple glances, and it felt like the air around them had been drenched with gasoline—one spark and they could ignite, go up in flames. 

Maybe that’s what Louis was thinking, too; maybe that’s why he grabbed Harry’s hand and made a quick dash for the bedroom, laughing as Harry stumbled on his heels. And they were laughing again, just like that, just like they had in the car, and they fell onto the bed still fully clothed, falling into each other in a mess of giggles and lips and skin. They shoved off jackets and kicked off shoes, hands pushing up shirts, nails dragging carefully against skin. Their jeans fell to the floor in a heap, Harry thought, at least; he couldn’t really be sure—he was too consumed with blue eyes, with the boy crawling over him and caging him in, with the sound of Louis’ laughter in his ears, the short hitch in his breath, the feel of lips curving against his skin. 

He fell asleep like that, his mind lost on this boy who used to be just a stranger with a kind smile. He fell asleep with his arm draped over Louis’ stomach, their bare legs tangled beneath the sheets, his chin tucked against Louis’ shoulder, breathing in the scent of Louis’ t-shirt. He fell asleep wrapped up in Louis, and he awoke that way, too. 

It felt like fire, burning his fingertips, burning his lips, burning his lungs and his heart and his thoughts. Harry didn’t mind it, though. Thought maybe he’d been too cold for far too long. 

**

“You sure you want to do this, mate?” 

Harry sucked in a breath, spared a glance around the shop. His stomach was tight with knots, but he nodded. “Been thinking about it a while,” he responded. 

Zayn nodded, but he was worrying his lower lip as he looked back to the words already carefully sketched out on Harry’s wrist, just waiting to be inked in for a lifetime. A smirk flashed to his face. “Does Louis know?” 

“I mentioned it,” Harry said, and he had. He’d told Louis he was contemplating getting something done, knew the older boy had caught him studying Zayn’s many tattoos like they were a sheet of examples. Louis shouldn’t be too surprised afterwards, but Harry wasn’t worried about Louis’ reaction, wasn’t worried about Louis at all. 

He wasn’t doing this for Louis, anyway. He was doing it because he couldn’t stop thinking about a boy, couldn’t stop thinking about blue eyes and a bright smile, and he knew that fluttering in his stomach wasn’t something to go away. But it wasn’t _for_ Louis; it was for the ache in his chest that had been there for years, for the worry that ate at the back of his mind on a constant basis. He was doing it for the words his peers had spat at him in the school corridors, at the punches that had bruised his ribs and the slurs that had stuck to his skin. He was doing it for the look in his mother’s eyes that still haunted him at night, like she couldn’t fathom the idea, like she didn’t understand why he was doing this, why he was saying these things about his feelings and his thoughts. 

He was doing it to remember those days that ended in tears, but he was also doing it for the smiles that made him forget. 

He was doing it for himself, a reminder tattooed to his skin. 

So he breathed in a deep breath when the artist returned and exhaled all his worries and fears and his entire past. He closed his eyes, bit hard on his lip to swallow back a cry. It stung, made tears spring to his eyes, but when he saw the words black against his skin he didn’t really mind. 

_I CAN’T CHANGE_ , they read, loud and clear. 

Simple. 

Maybe he were thinking too much, but Harry thought he could breathe a little easier. 


	17. Settled: Surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i'm pretty sure 2013 only lasted for about 5 minutes. 
> 
> in summary, i'm so sorry hello i'm alive this story is still happening if you're still here bless your soul ilysm i'm baking each of you cookies pls enjoy the gratuitous scene you’ll know which one

Chapter Sixteen  
Settled: Surprise

“You’re encouraging him.”

Zayn snorted, tossing a box of cereal into the shopping basket. “I’m really not.”

“You are,” Louis insisted as they rounded the corner. They stopped in front of the canned goods, Louis stepping aside as Zayn dug through the soups. He glared and drummed his fingers on the handle of the basket as he waited. “He’s already talking about getting more.”

“So?”

“A lot more,” Louis clarified. “You’re a terrible influence.”

“Louis, mate,” Zayn said, pulling a couple cans from the shelf. He turned toward Louis with an exasperated, albeit humored expression. “He’s been thinking about getting tattoos before he even knew us, alright? He’s got loads of sketches in that journal, some dated last spring. Sorry, but it’s not my fault.”

Louis rolled his eyes and followed along as Zayn continued down the aisle, restraining an irritated pout the whole way. He knew he was being ridiculous, and he knew Harry had mentioned getting tattoos before, he _knew_ this. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, but he couldn’t help pointing an accusing finger at Zayn—even days after Harry had returned to the flat with three words permanently inked to his wrist. “But I still don’t get why he didn’t ask me to go with him,” Louis spoke up after a minute, his bruised ego finally standing up.

“Huh, I wonder.” Zayn laughed again, shaking his head as he grabbed a carton of milk. “Maybe because I already have some experience with tattoos, innit?” And as if for emphasis, he held out his arms, both covered with scattered tattoos. It made sense.

“Yeah, but—” Louis cut off with a frown, and he shrugged. “I guess I just thought that since we’re, you know, dating… I-I don’t know.” He shook his head suddenly, his neck hot. “Forget it.”

Zayn must have understood him, though, because he nudged Louis’ shoulder with his own as he continued down the aisle. “Lou, it’s nothing like that,” he assured him, dropping his voice. “Honest. He just didn’t want it to be a big deal, yeah? If I hadn’t been the one to introduce him to Tom, he probably would’ve gone on his own altogether.”

Louis flitted his eyes toward Zayn. “Yeah?” he asked, because he couldn’t seem to get his head around _why_.

But Zayn nodded, a sincere smile on his lips. “Yeah, positive, mate.”

Finally, Louis let out a sigh, laughing just slightly at himself. “You’re probably right,” he started.

“I am.”

Louis laughed again and continued, “Regardless, he’s talking about tattoos way more than he was a week ago. He even mentioned the possibility of a _chest_ tattoo, Zayn.”

“Ooh,” Zayn cooed, an all too knowing smirk on his lips. “Bet you wouldn’t mind that, would you?”

Zayn waggled his brows, and Louis didn’t waste a second before smacking his arm. “Don’t,” he warned. He might have told Zayn on a drunken night back in college that he most definitely had a “thing” for chest tattoos—not long after Zayn had gotten a chest tattoo himself. That, he learned, was something he should have kept to himself; Zayn never shut up about it.

“I’m just saying,” Zayn said, holding up his hands in defense. “Maybe you should give the tattoo thing a chance.”

“I am!” Louis frowned because he hadn’t meant for it to seem like he was against Harry getting tattoos—he wasn’t; it wasn’t his place to really have an opinion. Harry could do as he wanted. He was just maybe a tad bit sour that Harry hadn’t quite told him, in black and white terms, that he was actually getting anything done. He was surprised, was all. And maybe feeling a little left out. It was ridiculous, really. Absolutely ridiculous.

“I like what he got done,” Louis felt obligated to add as they queued for the check-out. “He knows that, right? He doesn’t think I absolutely hate it?”

Zayn smiled something soft and nodded as he started to unload the basket. “He knows.”

**

Louis couldn’t stop thinking about it that afternoon—the idea of Harry with all these tattoos scattered across his skin, big and small, abstract and concrete, sweet and so absurdly silly, all dark against his skin. Zayn had teased him near relentlessly on the drive home from the grocery store, talking about how Harry had already brought up a couple more ideas with the tattoo artist. He wouldn’t say which ideas or where, but Louis’ imagination was running wild with the possibilities that Harry had talked about one night. It was driving Louis mad as he unloaded the groceries.

He had this distinct image in his mind, these dark sketches laid out along Harry’s limbs, a couple birds on his chest—something Harry himself had mentioned, just as an idea. And it was such a contrast, imagining black ink all over this young, quiet boy Louis had grown to know. But Harry wasn’t really all that much of a boy, was he? Louis supposed Harry never actually was, not in the course during which they had met; certainly Harry had been young that December, still only 17, but he was hardly a boy. Now, months after 18 and standing on his own two feet, “boy” felt an all too unfitting term.

And the Harry that Louis was imagining that afternoon, all covered with tattoos and an easy smirk, was no boy. It wasn’t the idea of a boy that had Louis falling onto his bed and unzipping his shorts, thankful for an empty flat.

With Harry at work and Zayn leaving for an evening shift, Louis relaxed against the mattress and let out a low, long sigh. His eyes fell shut, and it felt like the first time in weeks that he was blessed with a moment to himself. Sure, there were times when Louis had the room to himself, could always quickly and quietly knock one off if he found the time. But he hated doing that with someone just in the other room, even if Zayn were busy with a Skype call or overly invested in a film. It always left Louis on edge. So he’d been confined to the shower, slick, wet tugs under the spray as he tried not to lose track of time. He wasn’t much a fan of that, either.

Louis always preferred taking his sweet time, especially when he was wound this tightly; he felt like he was losing his mind.

He shucked off his shirt and shimmied out of his shorts and pants as he got comfortable, leant against the pillows. His mind was spinning as he took himself in one hand, giving it a couple tugs. He let out a shudder of a breath and tried not to think about how long it’d really been.

Instead, Louis focused on those green eyes that were haunting him, and that ridiculous smirk with its crater sized dimples. Sometimes, he swore Harry didn’t even know what he was doing to him. Accidental teasing… was that even a thing? God, Louis was going insane.

His eyes closed, he could imagine Harry crawling over him, caging him in, easing him down to the mattress with his lips and his hands. He could see Harry taking him in one hand, nearly covering his length, and getting him off with slow jerks of the wrist as he kissed him long and hard, all of his sounds muffled into Harry’s mouth. He twitched with just the thought.

His mind ran so far he could imagine Harry all tatted up, dark lines and drawings all along his arms, across his chest, his side, doing the same. He tried not to dwell on the idea, but he only hardened faster at the image of a tattooed chest leaning over him, sticky with sweat, and Harry the sinful canvas. It was absurd, maybe, but logic didn’t really have a place in Louis’ thoughts as he jerked his wrist, teased a nipple with his free hand, and let his head fall back against the pillows, landing hard and heavy.

His breath was coming faster, vision blurry as he blinked, and he let out a low, cracking groan as he tugged again and once more. He let his eyes stay shut, even as his motions grew a little faster, and bit his lip to keep back another moan.

Louis was so caught up in the moment, so far gone, that he didn’t hear the bedroom door open—not until it slammed shut a moment later, followed with a jumbled exclaim of, “Oh, my god, shit, I, shit, sh—!”

He jolted at the crash of the door, eyes popping open, and whipped his head toward the doorway in the matter of a second. “Shit!” he hissed under his breath, already sitting up and grabbing the bed sheet to pull it across himself, his dick and orgasm both temporarily forgotten. His heart was pounding so loudly he wasn’t sure if he heard silence outside the room or not. Hell, maybe Harry was already down the block; he wouldn’t be surprised if he were. But he tried, once he caught his breath, “Harry?”

It was silent at first, several excruciating seconds ticking by. But then Harry replied from the other side of the door, “Still here.”

Louis bit down a curse. He had half hoped Harry would’ve run. “You, um,” he started and then stopped, realizing he really had no idea what to say. He laughed, despite himself. “You can come in now, if you want. I’m covered,” he said and pulled a pillow onto his lap for good measure.

There was silence again, but the door clicked open again seconds later. It was opened just far enough for Harry stick his head through. His cheeks were absolutely glowing pink with embarrassment, and he looked to Louis with an expression mixed with shame and shock. “Sorry,” he whispered and bit his lip. “I, erm. I should’ve knocked, I’m sorry.”

Louis felt a blush rise to his cheeks, too, but this one wasn’t from arousal or embarrassment. “It’s your room, too, Harry,” he reminded the boy at the door. “You don’t have to knock.”

Harry lifted a brow.

“Okay, okay, fair enough.” Louis laughed, and it must have eased the tension because Harry fully entered the room and quietly shut the door behind him. He lingered near the door, though, shifting on his feet and eying the bed.

“I thought you work till 5 on Thursdays?” Louis continued carefully, reaching for normalcy. The air felt delicate; they hadn’t done much of anything beyond heavy snogging yet. Having Harry catch him mid-wank wasn’t just embarrassing. It was uncertain territory, and he had no idea how Harry would react.

Green eyes flitted from Louis’ covered lap, and Harry smiled softly. “Usually,” he said, keeping up their act of normality. “Josh needed some extra hours, so…”

“Here you are.”

“Here I am,” Harry echoed and trailed off, leaning fully against the back of the door. His arms were flat against the surface, fingers drumming against the wood, but he didn’t look plastered against it out of uncertainty. His stance was casual.

Louis didn’t know what to make of it in the minute of silence that followed. Their eyes caught more than once, blushes flared, smiles and almost-smirks shone, but nothing was clear until Harry cleared his throat. “I guess I should, erm… I should let you finish up, shouldn’t I?” he asked, and Louis let out a breath he didn’t even known he was holding.

“That would be fantastic, actually,” he admitted.

Harry nodded, his bottom lip sucked under his teeth. “Alright,” he settled and pushed himself from the door. He had his hand on the doorknob when he froze and glanced just over his shoulder. “Or I could stay?”

Louis blinked. “Or you could stay?” he asked, because he must have heard wrong.

But Harry turned back toward Louis and nodded again, this time biting back just a bit of a smile. “Or I could stay,” he repeated.

Their eyes locked across the room, blue catching green, and Louis felt his stomach drop. He twitched beneath the covers. “Or you could stay,” he agreed.

Harry didn’t move for an entire minute. He seemed to survey the scenario from his spot, his eyes falling to Louis’ lap, the pillow, the bed, pausing on the empty space beside him, before meeting Louis’ gaze again. Louis could see his chest heave with a breath, like he were bracing himself to say something, but when he parted his lips he didn’t say a word.

Neither did Louis.

The seconds wore on, excruciating as Louis felt his dick twitch under the pillow. His mind was still a hazy mess, and he toyed with the edge of the pillow case. Could he move it yet? Return to the job at hand? From the flush of Harry’s cheeks, he decided against it.

But just as Harry finally looked like he were to say something else—probably to take back his suggestion and excuse himself—Louis blurted out, “I was thinking of you.”

Harry blinked at him, frozen to the floor. “What?” he asked, like it needed clarification. His voice was thick, lower than usual, Louis thought.

“I was thinking of you,” Louis repeated, more softly than before. Keeping the pillow in place, he slipped one hand back under the covers and wrapped his fingers around himself, starting with a meek, reviving pump. His breathing hitched, and he looked to Harry across the room. “Not really sure who else I’d be thinking about, to be honest.”

Harry shrugged after a moment. His eyes swept to a poster on the far wall, and he smirked something sweet. “Ronaldo, probably,” he said.

Louis let out a laugh that sound far breathier than it should’ve, but he was already hard again, aching and holding on, Harry’s eyes on him. “Yeah, well.” He shrugged, too, smiling for all it was worth. “You’re a hell of a lot more real.”

A bashful sort of smile pinched Harry’s features, but he didn’t look away despite the blush scattered across his cheeks. “Since I’m real,” he started and finally pushed away from the door, crossing to the bed in five strides, “I guess you don’t even have to bother thinking of me.” Louis furrowed his brow, but Harry just shook his head and sat down on the edge of the mattress. He sat close, close enough that when he leaned forward their lips met easily. It was rougher than usual, more tongue, less patience, and Louis’ stomach curled with arousal just from the attention. Harry stayed close when he pulled away, their noses nearly touching and his eyes just barely opening. “I’m right here,” he whispered, and they both smiled into another kiss.

Harry crowded over Louis, kissing him down to lean against the pillows, and let his lips stray from Louis’ as he went. He was kissing down Louis’ neck, just down to the collarbone, when he pushed the pillow from Louis’ lap.

Louis sucked in a breath as he was exposed to the cooler room temperature, and shot open his eyes even though Harry was busy with his mouth. “What’re you—” was all Louis could manage to say, falling to a moan of a breath when Harry nipped at his skin.

The younger boy lifted his head. “Let me?” he said, just a hint of a question seeping into his voice.

His cheeks were rosy, still, as Louis feared they always would be, but his eyes were dark with lust. It was one of the first times Louis had seen Harry like this, up close, a little more disheveled than usual. He looked uncertain, but his brow was hard with determination, and Louis found himself nodding without another question.

Harry inhaled deeply, and a second later his hand wrapped around Louis’ length, fingers brushing around Louis’ hand and keeping it in place. His hand was clammy, cool against his flesh, and Louis winced at first touch but it was _Harry_ and it had his mind spinning so much he let his eyes close.

“Show me how you… ?” Harry asked after a single pump. Louis blinked open his eyes to find Harry looking down between them. He glanced upward after a moment, his brow knitted and a sheepish look on his face. “I mean, how you like to.”

Louis laughed, light and breathy, and nodded, because _of course_ Harry would ask in a moment like this, still need a little nudge in the right direction. Louis thought fleetingly that he should’ve expected it, really, and couldn’t help a smile.

“You’ve at least done this yourself, right?” he had to ask, and Harry blushed an entire shade darker but nodded.

“Well,” Louis started and shrugged a shoulder, pumping his hand once, Harry’s hand mimicking the movement around him. Harry’s thumb slid just across the head, on accident Louis was sure, but it had him sucking in a sharp breath, his eyes falling shut as he muffled a moan. He cracked open an eye to find Harry staring at him, the picture of startled, and Louis flashed him an easy grin. “Give it a go.”

It took a few pumps for Harry to pick up a rhythm of his own, but Louis wasn’t nitpicking, especially not when Harry gave his balls a playful jostle with his other hand or massaged just at his abdomen, brushing across the trail of fine hair that lay there. He took a deep breath in attempt to ground himself and hold on for just a little bit longer, because his senses were going into overload all too quickly. He had a hand tangled in Harry’s curls, and Harry actually sputtered out a laugh when he tried to tug him close because, “I can’t, not unless you want me to stop.”

So Louis let up with a grunt of _fucking angles_ , thought just for a half second about rearranging so he could have Harry’s lips on his without messing up anything else. But that thought fluttered away about as quickly as his grasp on reality, and he grabbed at the bed sheets with his other hand when he felt himself nearing climax.

Another jerk of Harry’s wrist, and Louis was coming undone with a shudder and a low moan he didn’t even bother trying to muffle. Harry helped him ride it out, pumping slower and slower until Louis was breathing normally and lifting his head from the pillows. He smiled something lazy and stupid. “Not half bad, Curly,” he joked.

Harry laughed, cracking a smirk, as he reached for the tissues on the bedside table. He snatched a couple, wiping off his hand and taking care to clean Louis up as gently as possible. “You know what?” he said, not until he was balling up the used tissues and tossing them into the rubbish bin by the closet.

Louis watched his movements with tired, hooded eyes. “Hmm?”

Smiling, Harry climbed back onto the bed alongside Louis, seemingly with no qualms about cuddling him whilst in two completely opposite states of dress. Louis didn’t really mind and welcomed the affection with an open arm.

Once settled, Harry answered with a soft giggle against Louis’ chest, “You should probably learn to lock the door.”

**

Louis landed a job two and a half weeks after his classes ended. It was pitifully part-time (barely 20 hours a week) and he could think of roughly seven hundred better ways to spend his summer than stocking shelves at a hole-in-the-wall movie store. But, it at least put some extra cash in his pocket and it was close to home. It was also, conveniently, two blocks from A Home for Lost Things, which meant that Harry had no qualms with swinging by after his shift on a Saturday afternoon.

“But doesn’t everyone just pull up films on Netflix anymore?” the younger boy asked, his green eyes trained on the back cover synopsis of a random case he had picked up. His curls, freshly trimmed, were wispy on both sides of his head, and his tongue was caught between his lips as he read. Louis must have been staring, because those green eyes jumped to him after a moment too long. Harry smirked just slightly, his cheek denting with a humored dimple.

Louis forced his gaze away and blinked hard as he restocked a copy of _Fight Club_. “We’re still in business, aren’t we?” he answered belatedly, shrugging.

Harry shrugged, too, replacing the case. “Barely,” he said after sparing a glance around the nearly empty store, “but I guess Netflix doesn’t have everything.”

“Right! That’s actually the store’s motto— _Netflix doesn’t have everything_ ,” Louis quipped, earning himself a hip-check as he stepped around Harry to the G-section. “Netflix,” he continued, “also lacks good-looking, amiable workers who are willing to serve your every need, Harold.”

That earned him a sputtering snort loud enough that the only other customer in the store turned to glare at them from three aisles over. A blush smattered across Harry’s cheeks in momentary embarrassment, and it still clung high on his cheekbones when he met Louis’ eyes seconds later. “ _Every_ need?” He smirked, the dimple a teasing crater by his lips. “Is there a fine print to that?”

Louis stuttered for a moment. His mouth went a little dry, his neck a little warm, and he certainly was not blushing. His mind blanked for a second because the thing was—well, he never knew what to expect with Harry. There were times in the past few weeks when the younger boy was hesitant—a stumbling, blushing, sometimes worried mess whenever they got a little too close. Anxious, like maybe he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch. Louis would have to draw him in, show him what to do and how whenever he didn’t know which way to turn.

But then, then there were these rare, blinding, confusing moments that snuck up on him, when a cocky little smirk tugged at Harry’s lips and his eyes shined with a dash of teasing and he said something that made Louis’ world tilt just a little too suddenly. Sometimes a blush still roared across the younger boy’s skin, and sometimes there was a hint of uncertainty tucked just in the corner of his eye or bunched along his brow—but it was always overpowered by the sheer brashness ringing in his voice or the way he leaned closer than usual. The way he seemed to let everything go.

It always left Louis a little speechless when those moments crept up, and it took him a moment to regain his bearings, to remind his lungs that breathing is a good thing.

That Saturday in particular, he cleared his throat, schooled his smirk as best he could, and shook his head in admonishing pretense. “Goodness, Styles, don’t get cheeky with me,” he scolded with a _tsk_. “I’m trying to make a living here.”

Harry’s teeth shone in response, his laughter not unlike a giggle. But, “Doesn’t answer my question, does it?”

Louis rounded the end of the aisle and fitted Harry with a glare over the top of the shelves. “Call back later with your question,” he settled and refused to look back in Harry’s direction. “I’m sure an associate will be standing by to help you.”

He didn’t even have to look; he could _feel_ the sheer power of Harry’s smirk from meters away. _Jesus._

“Any associate?” Harry asked. “I was really hoping to get in touch with, erm, I think his name is Lewis, or something?”

Louis grimaced at the name. “No one with that name works here. Sorry, mate.”

“Really?” Harry continued playing along, his eyes shining when Louis spared a glance his way. “That’s a shame. He’s really something. I was hoping to catch him again.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, I was hoping to invite him back to mine tonight,” Harry explained, lowering his voice as he rounded the end of the aisle to join Louis on the other side of the stacks. “You see, my flatmate is out of town this weekend with some mates, so my flat’s going to be empty, and I was thinking he and I could have a really nice night in. Just the two of us. I was even going to cook.”

“Were you?” Louis wondered, letting a smile shape his lips.

“Mm,” Harry hummed, rocking on his heels. “I guess I’ll just be ordering in for one now, though, since no Lewis works here.”

“You’re such a shit, Haz, honestly,” Louis joked and gave Harry a shove to the shoulder, enough that the younger boy lost his balance and stumbled on his feet.

He squawked, flailing his arms before regaining his balance and coming to with a blush raging across his cheeks. “And you’re kind of abusive, actually. Maybe I really will be ordering in for one,” he teased.

Louis only rolled his eyes. “What are you making? Anything good?”

“Something Italian,” Harry answered, shrugging. “Haven’t decided yet. I’ll let the grocery store make up my mind, I think, but—”

He paused, his brow furrowing as he dug into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out his cell phone. The display was lit up with a message. He scanned it briefly and frowned.

“What is it?”

“Message from Josh,” Harry said and punched a few keys on his phone, frowning even more.

“About… ?”

“He’s wondering if I have a sister?” Harry blinked at his phone a few times and let out a bewildered sort of laugh. “Wonder where the hell that even came from…”

Which Louis had to wonder, too. Harry still rarely ever talked about his family, even with Louis. He would randomly drop a sentence about back home, maybe mention something he and his sister, Gemma, used to do, or something his mum used to make. But it was a rare occasion, one that usually ended with a blush and Harry clamping his jaw shut for the rest of the conversation. Louis doubted Josh even fully understood what had happened with Harry back home, or that he gave much thought to Harry’s home life at all.

Which just made Josh’s text all the stranger.

Louis tried to keep the suspicion off his face, out of his voice. “Josh is on shift now, isn’t he?” he asked. Harry nodded. “Must be bored out of his skull to be playing 20 questions.”

Harry’s phone buzzed again, and the younger boy snorted after he read the message. “Guess you’re right,” he said and turned the screen toward Louis.

_no reason no reason . just curious hah_

Another two messages came through, hardly seconds later.

_is she fit btw?_

_if yes… wat r the chances she would date me? ;)_

Harry snorted as he read the message, and Louis rolled his eyes, only some of his apprehension draining.

“That boy is desperate and shameless. C’mon, give it here.” Louis shifted the remaining stack of DVDs under his arm and snatched Harry’s phone from his hands.

_you’re not getting with harry’s sister unless u want your prized jewels cut off and served back to you on a silver platter . get back to work, ya filthy animal . louis :) x_

“There,” he aid and tossed the phone back to Harry.

“What did you say to him?”

Louis shrugged, re-shelving a copy of _Hannibal_. “Same thing I tell him whenever he says something about Lottie or Doniya, or, well. Anyone’s siblings, really.”

“Oh.” Harry frowned at his phone, brow furrowed. His voice dropped when he added, “Weird he’d bring that up out of the blue…”

Louis took a deep breath and gave Harry’s elbow a quick squeeze. Harry met his gaze, his eyes hesitant. “Don’t mind him,” Louis urged, whispered, rather. “He’s probably just bored and not thinking straight, yeah?” Harry frowned again, doubtful, and Louis couldn’t blame him. It _was_ weird, and it was totally out of the blue. But he could see the stiff set to Harry’s jaw, the change in his stance in only the past minute—shoulders hunched, head dropped, lip caught under his teeth—and the way his eyes seemed a little darker. Shadowed, like he’d shrank back just into himself and didn’t want to be seen. Louis saw that, and he couldn’t breathe even a word of his own apprehension.

Instead, he pressed his thumb along the dip of Harry’s elbow, smiling gently. “Hey, Josh is just being Josh, alright? Don’t even worry about it. Why don’t you instead,” he smiled, wider than before, and poked Harry playfully in the side, “go back to telling me about this amazingly romantic meal you’re cooking for me tonight.”

Harry’s cheeks flushed, just along the bone, and he hate to bite back a smile now instead of a frown. “I don’t know…” he started after a moment. “At this rate, I might just be sending you to McDonald’s and calling it a night.”

_Tsk_ , Louis clicked. “Such a rude boyfriend, honestly the _worst_.”

Words that sounded so mean, but they left Harry grinning from ear to ear. “I should go to the store to, erm, grab some things. I’ll see you around 6:30 or so, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah, can’t wait.”

“Okay,” Harry settled and rolled onto the balls of his feet, but he didn’t make to leave. His lip was sucked in under his teeth again, and he spared a quick glance around the shop. “Right. Well. Okay. I’ll be seeing you, then.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Harold,” Louis laughed and stopped Harry by the arm. “You’re allowed to kiss me goodbye, you know.”

“But you’re _at work_ ,” Harry whispered like it were some sort of secret and the idea a complete scandal. His eyes looked wild and bright, and Louis felt like his heart were growing too large for his chest.

Louis laughed, despite himself, and went just far enough onto his tip toes ( _when had_ that _happened?_ ) to press a quick kiss to Harry’s lips. “You’re absolutely ridiculous,” he told him, trying his hardest to keep his grin in check. “Go cook something delicious, alright?”

Harry smiled a hidden smile, bitten lip, and nodded, backing out of the store without another word.

**

By the end of his shift, Louis had forgotten about Josh’s out of place text entirely. He, instead, was too annoyed with a customer who had no idea what film he wanted but insisted Louis help him find it by a vague description of nothing. After 45 minutes, the man finally left, when he realized he was looking for a book his friend had told him about, and not a movie at all!

_Oops._

Louis was not as amused by the situation as the customer was.

It wasn’t the best way to end his shift, but as soon as he stepped onto the pavement outside the rental shop, he couldn’t contain a smile—because Harry was already lighting up his phone with a text. It was a photo message. The kitchen table was set. He had freaking _candles_ lit, two tall white sticks in holders Louis was certain he’d never seen before, which meant Harry either tore apart the flat and found long lost items, or he went out and bought candlesticks just for this.

Either way, Louis was grinning at his phone as he enlarged the photo. Two places were set, silverware and glasses already in place, cloth napkins folded, a bottle of wine standing between the two places. The message along with the photo read:

_Get your bum here now, Lou. The food’s getting cold!_

But a second message quickly followed suit.

_:P just kidding, it’s still cooking … but hurry back i miss you … X_

Louis bit back another smile and typed out a quick response. _You’re an idiot Haz. Be home soon xx ._

And if Louis tucked his phone into his pocket and walked a little faster than normal—with a bounce in his step, even. Well. Harry would never know.

**

“Are you trying to _woo_ me, Harold?” Louis asked as he surveyed the food on the counter and still simmering in the pans on the stovetop. He felt like he’d stepped foot into the kitchen of a five-star restaurant. All that was missing was a herd of cooks in white with those funny hats. And Gordon Ramsay, but not every thing can be perfect.

When Louis turned toward Harry, he was ducking his head just enough that he looked the picture definition of bashful. His cheeks were positively glowing. “Don’t be silly. Of course I’m not,” he insisted, turning his attention back to the pan of pasta. “Why?” He paused, glanced over his shoulder. “Is it working?”

Louis swallowed his smile and shook his head at himself. “Smug is rather charming on you,” he said, coming up behind Harry. He snaked his arms around Harry’s waist and relished in the way Harry relaxed into the touch. Just a few weeks before Harry had still stiffened at Louis’ touch, still too uncertain and nervous. Now, though, he even wiggled back against Louis, earning a laugh and a fond bite to his shoulder. “Hey, now,” Louis faux-warned, “none of that silly business. There’s delicious food that needs attending before I can stuff my face with it.”

“Oh.” Harry hummed with a chuckle. “Lovely, that’ll be.”

“It will be,” Louis agreed. “So lovely that there will be no leftovers for Niall to raid the next time he’s over.”

“Mm,” Harry hummed again and said no more, but he lifted one hand to rest it over Louis’ on his hip. He laced their fingers together and squeezed once.

Louis squeezed right back. “Tell me something.”

“Hm?”

“Why the hell don’t you cook like this every day?”

Harry barked a laugh, his entire frame shaking with giggles. “Can’t go around spoiling you, can I?” he teased. “What would your mother think?”

“I’ll have you know my mother wants only the best for me. The best includes, obviously, spoiling me senseless for no reason whatsoever.”

“But this is because I _wanted_ to.”

“Oh.” Louis faked a grimace and drew away. “That’s a lame reason.”

“Oh, shut up,” Harry said over a laugh and switched off the burner. “Careful, or this might be the last of the spoiling.”

Louis scoffed. “Horrid. You’re just horrid.”

Harry laughed again and picked up a bowl of veggies, shoving them in Louis’ direction. “Take these to the table and sit down, won’t you?”

The older boy muttered under his breath about _so bossy_ and _wait till my mother hears about this_ , but none of it shattered the smile that was pulled all along Harry’s every feature.

**

They ate with interruptions of wandering feet beneath the table. Louis lost count of how many times Harry brushed his bare ankle with his foot, before Louis eventually trapped Harry’s (ridiculously large) foot between his legs. Harry feigned an outcry of offense, and Louis cheered in victory, thrusting his fork in the air.

It all clashed—their childish hilarity with the romantic backdrop.

Louis couldn’t ever have imagined playing footsie like a ridiculous primary school child while dining by candlelight. He didn’t think the two would ever go together. But with Harry grinning at him across the table, green catching blue through the bouncing candlelight, somehow it felt alright.

It felt natural, in a way, and Louis let the thought settle with the rhythmic thumping of his heart, the swell in his chest.

**

With the dishes cleared to the sink, Louis lingered as Harry blew out the candles. “What?” Harry sputtered with a bewildered laugh when he straightened up from the table.

Louis just shook his head. “Movie?” he asked instead, for lack of anything noteworthy to say.

The younger boy agreed by following Louis into the living room. They put in a movie at random, just the nearest case to the DVD player. But when Louis turned around to join Harry on the sofa, he found the younger boy sprawled along the entire length of it, his long limbs hanging off the cushions.

Louis lifted a brow. “Care to budge over a bit, or have I been wrongly banished to the floor?”

Harry’s cheeks reddened just a shade and his eyes dropped when he answered, “Thought we could… Lie like this? For a bit, I mean. If you…”

“Want a cuddle?” Louis asked, not short of dumbfounded. He chuckled and regretted it immediately, Harry’s skin darkening even more as he started to move. “Hey, wait,” Louis was quick to stop him, “I didn’t say _no_ , Hazza.”

The younger boy stopped his movements and blinked at Louis. “We don’t have to,” he said. “The couch isn’t that comfortable, anyway.”

“Yes, well,” Louis started, “you brought it up and you’re not getting out of it now, you fool. Now, you might still have to budge up a bit because I’m not flopping all over you and playing blanket for the next hour and a half. Move.”

And Harry obliged the best he could, a small, secretive sort of smile shadowing his lips as Louis crawled over him. He wedged himself comfortably, slotted along Harry’s side and the sofa, one leg slipping between Harry’s, arm draped across Harry’s stomach, fingers finding skin and hiding under the hem of a shirt. He rested his head just under Harry’s chin and took a deep breath as he settled in, overwhelmed by the now all too familiar scent of Harry. It had grown mixed with his own over the months, still strong with Harry’s aftershave but now laced with a just an underlying trace of vanilla. Louis’ body wash. Harry had his own body wash, own shampoo and all, but it was clear Harry had abandoned them the past few weeks; the bottles stood in the corner shower caddy still mostly full.

As much as Harry had settled in and left his mark all over Louis the past few months, Louis knew he had incidentally done the same.

The two of them had unknowingly crossed a line together, from two strangers—people with their own habits and lifestyles, own scents and vocabularies, own friends and family—to two people with their lives inherently linked and intertwined. They both, unknowingly, left their marks on each other.

Louis curled into Harry a little closer, smelling this mix of them both, and tried not to dwell on the thought of when, exactly, their lives had grown this woven.

“Enjoy dinner?” Harry asked a few minutes later, during the previews they were both too lazy to fast-forward through. His green eyes were following the action on screen.

Louis knew this because he was watching Harry instead, not even realizing he had been silent for so long until Harry turned toward him with an amused look. Taking a steadying breath, Louis smiled and hid it against Harry’s t-shirt. “Loved it,” was all he could manage, his words muffled.

Harry’s lips seemed to trembled with a laugh, clearly amused, but he kept it to himself. “Good,” he settled, his voice just a whisper as he stretched to press a kiss to Louis’ hair. He didn’t press anymore, and neither did Louis. There was a comfort in their silence that night, a soft unspoken agreement that words weren’t really needed. Harry seemed more comfortable, at ease, and when he worked up the courage ten minutes into the movie to wrap an arm snugly around Louis’ shoulders and draw him a little nearer—Louis wasn’t about to spoil it.

Harry snuck his hand a little lower as the movie progressed, fingers slipping beneath Louis’ shirt, warm against the cool skin of his back. Louis tried to focus on the movie, but he was distracted by Harry’s hand spanning across his lower back, by the way Harry seemed to touch him with an unspoken question each time. Harry pressed more firmly against his back, fingers pushing upward, and Louis looked toward him. Harry was biting his lip—something Louis normally associated with uncertainty, but this time the dark shade of Harry’s eyes said something completely different. It made Louis’ insides twist with something like excitement.

The movie forgotten, Louis started to shift on the sofa just to stop a second later, sparing Harry a quick glance. “Do you mind if I—”

But Harry shook his head quickly, instantly, his fringe falling into his eyes with the movement. Harry didn’t seem bothered, though, already accommodating the shift as Louis moved to straddle him, hands guiding his hips with an urgent lead. Louis almost laughed at Harry’s sudden desperation, but any laughter died on his tongue as soon as Harry kissed him.

Harry kissed him soundly, both hands leaving Louis’ sides to cup his face. He drew Louis toward him with careful touches, every pull seemingly calculated, his fingers always cautious. But he always kissed with purpose, without caution or hesitance or fear. He always kissed liked he meant it, leaning into it the best he could and always holding Louis there like it were something to savor. It was different than how Louis had been kissed before. The kisses he remembered always seemed to be a bit rushed, maybe even a tad clumsy and neglected, like they were only ever an opening act to the main show. He had never minded that, though, had never thought of kissing in any other way. But he liked this, too; liked how it was slowed down, stressing it, like maybe kissing was a main show all on its own.

It sent a thrill rushing down Louis’ spine.

Louis smiled as Harry pulled him in, lips parted and tongues sliding past. Harry’s fingers grazed against his skin, thumb snagging across the tip of his ear, and Louis let one hand slip into Harry’s hair while he shifted his weight onto one arm. His fingers tangled in Harry’s curls, and he tugged slightly, mindlessly, swallowing the sound Harry let out in response. Louis couldn’t help the smirk that pulled at his lips, silent laughter vibrating throughout him.

The younger boy finally took one hand away from Louis’ face, just to pinch him in the side. “‘S not funny,” he said.

“No, no, course not,” Louis nearly hummed his reply, his lips still against Harry’s. “Just cute.”

Harry pinched him again, and this time Louis did laugh. His lips tricked with a full-fledged smile as he brought them back to Harry’s. But, “Not cute,” Harry mumbled in protest, even though Louis could feel the curve of his smile.

“It is,” Louis grinned against him. “A good bit.”

“‘M not _cute_.”

_You are_ , Louis wanted to say but decided to keep the thought to himself. Instead, he sat back just enough to roll his hips against Harry’s, a smirk pinned to his lips. Harry grunted at the contact and tightened his hands around Louis’ waist. “Don’t do that,” he scorned, though the upturn of his lips said otherwise.

“Then stop arguing with me,” Louis teased and leaned back down over the younger boy, “and kiss me, you fool.”

Harry grinned dopily, dimple and all, and obliged with just as much blinding desperation as before. He pulled Louis to him with a hand at the back of his neck, kissed him hard, kissed him soundly, and still managed to cradle his cheek like it were something fragile. It sent Louis’ mind reeling.

Louis ignored the flutter that felt like butterflies in his stomach when Harry tickled at the spot of skin behind his ear, ignored the urge to smile when Harry took the lead. But he rolled his hips down once more, just to regain control, and couldn’t help a grin when Harry bit a groan against his skin. He did it again, just to relish the feeling of Harry tensing under him, barely bucking up like he was restraining himself, fingers strong on Louis’ sides. Louis didn’t want it to stop.

But it did, all too suddenly, with a sharp knock on the front door.

They both jumped, sharp breaths followed by a still silence until a second knock finally startled them apart.

“I, uh.” Louis was first to move, ungracefully rolling to his feet as he called in the general direction of the door, “Just a sec!”

“Noo, why’d you have to answer?” Harry mumbled with a pout, pathetically reaching toward Louis to pull him back toward the sofa. He caught the hem of Louis’ shirt and gave it a meek tug. “Staaaay,” he tried, but Louis only laughed and batted away his hand.

“And what if I stay and it’s the Queen stood on our doorstep?” Louis sent Harry a very serious look before turning back toward the door. “We shan’t be keeping her waiting, shall we?”

Harry whined and didn’t call back until Louis already had a hand on the doorknob, “Tell her to come round tomorrow, we’re busy!”

Louis was laughing when he pulled open the door, and, as expected, it wasn’t the Queen waiting on the other side. However, it was no one Louis would have guessed—not Josh, or a lonely Niall, or a neighbor with a burning question on a Saturday night. Rather, outside their door stood a young woman with a familiar face Louis couldn’t quite place. She was dressed simply, a pair of dark skinny jeans and a t-shirt, and her dirty blond hair was done in a loose braid that fell over her shoulder. She was biting back an uncertain smile, a dimple dented to her cheek, and she looked at Louis like she’d made a mistake.

“Sorry,” she started before Louis could even get in a hello. “I think I might have the wrong flat, actually.”

“Oh.” She sounded familiar, though it was clear from her accent she was from out of town. “Were you looking for someone?”

She was already looking to go but stopped at Louis’ question. “Yes, actually, I am. I, erm…” she trailed off to a flustered laugh, shaking her head like maybe this was the most ridiculous thing she’d done all year. “This guy at the um, at this sell-it-again record shop—a dodgy fellow, to be honest, not entirely sure I should have believed him—gave me this address? He told me that I could possibly, or would, actually, find my—”

“Gemma?”

Harry’s voice cut in, and Louis turned to find the younger boy standing just several paces behind him. His features were stoic, stiff and hard to read in a way Louis hadn’t seen them in months, and Louis’ stomach dropped. He looked back and the girl at the door— _Gemma, of course, the resemblance was there, clear as day_ —was opening and closing her mouth with a loss.

“Brother,” Gemma finally finished, though she spoke with a whisper and stared at Harry like he maybe weren’t even there at all. “My brother,” she clarified. “He said I would find my brother here and he was,” she cut off with a sharp breath then, her eyes shining with a layer of tears, “God damn it, he was right. Jesus bloody Christ, Harry, it’s actually you.”

Louis saw Harry’s brow dip just slightly, but he stayed where he was, uncertain and unmoving, just like he had that very first day at the flat, uncertain if he were truly welcome inside. He looked it now, even as his features softened, uncertain if he were welcome to step forward or even say a word.

Gemma made up his mind for him, though. She rushed into the flat a moment later and wrapped Harry in a hug so tight it even made Louis cringe. “Thank god you’re alright,” she said and squeezed Harry hard, looking like she was never going to let him go.

But Harry relaxed into the hug, the stiffness now completely gone from his features. “I’m fine,” he assured her quietly. “I’m fine.”

“Good,” Gemma said, before suddenly pulling back and punching Harry hard in the arm. “Now tell me what the hell were you thinking!”

“Ow!” Harry pulled away and frowned, already rubbing at the spot. “Was that really necessary?”

“Yes,” Gemma answered simply and, as if to prove her point, gave him a good, rough shove as well. “Do you know how worried I’ve been?”

“I know—”

“I mean, Jesus, Harry, you don’t just leave without a word like that and without a note or a ring home, or for god’s sake even a text would’ve gone miles! I thought something serious might’ve happened to you, it’s been so long.”

“I know, I—”

“I mean what were you even thinking? That you could just run away and we’d all just up and forget about you? That it would just make everything better? Harry, you can’t just pick up and leave and assume that no one’s going to remember you.”

The words echoed in Louis’ ears and he knew they did the same to Harry from the way the younger boy stiffened. Louis watched as he closed the door to the flat as quietly as possible. Harry glanced his way, even at just the soft little click, and Louis felt his stomach twist when green landed upon him with a plea for help. But this was something Harry had to do, had to face on his own. So, he gave Harry a small smile, the best he could do without interfering.

It must have been enough of an encouragement, because Harry looked back to his sister with a deep breath. “I know,” he started again, quietly and evenly, “and I’m sorry, but that was… It was just something I had to do.”

Gemma shook her head and she looked like she wanted to disagree, but whatever words had piled up on her tongue she decided to swallow instead. She settled with, “You still could’ve called.”

A smile graced Harry’s lips, small and maybe a little bit regretful. “I know. I’m sorry I didn’t.”

“As you should be,” Gemma agreed. They were both silent for a moment, Harry looking small and uncertain and his sister’s face unreadable. The air in the room was tense, stretched tight like a rubber band; Louis wasn’t sure if anyone was breathing. But just like a snap, Gemma pushed forward to wrap Harry in another hug, sputtering softly, “God, I’ve missed you so, _so_ much.”

Louis couldn’t make out what Harry said in reply, his words too muffled into Gemma’s shoulder. But if he had to guess, he would’ve bet they were, “I missed you, too.”

**

“My friend thought she saw you,” Gemma was saying a little while later—after introductions had been made, after Harry had caught her up to speed with what all had happened, after she had already grinned and teasingly messed up Harry’s curls because _I can’t believe my little brother actually has a boyfriend_ —in way of explanation.

Gemma was leaning against the kitchen counter while the three of them waited for the kettle to boil, her arms crossed firmly against her chest. She continued, “Her parents live around here, and she was visiting home a couple weekends ago and was positive she saw you when she went out shopping the one day. I mean, she’d only ever seen pictures of you, so she wasn’t sure. But she snuck a picture, sent it to me, and…” She raised her hands, as if to say, _and here we are._

“A couple weekends ago and you’ve only now just come knocking down our door?” Harry smirked from his seat, earning him a kick from Louis under the table. He didn’t really seem to mind.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” his sister laughed. “I was ready to board the train down here the second she texted me, but I… I suppose I thought better of it.”

Harry frowned. “Better of it?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Gemma shrugged, smiling shortly. “I hadn’t really thought about what I was going to say to you, if it really was you. I guess I needed a moment to process it—you know, the thought of you being back in my life after you’d been out of it for so long. And if I was going to tell mum…”

Louis tensed at the same moment Harry did, swore he could feel the younger boy suck in a breath at only the mention of _mum_. He squeezed Harry’s knee under the table, a feeble reassurance. Harry held his lip for a moment but looked back to Gemma. “Did you?” he asked, his voice just a notch quieter.

Gemma shook her head. “Not yet. I figured that’s up to you.”

Harry nodded but said no more; the topic slid away as quickly as it had been brought up. Fittingly, the kettle whistled at the same moment, cutting off any chance for the topic to continue.

None of them spoke again until they were settled around the table, steaming mugs in their hands and a plate of biscuits between them. Gemma’s laughter broke the silence first, short and quiet but enough to make both Louis and Harry glance up from their mugs.

“What?” Harry wondered.

“Nothing,” Gemma said, shaking her head with another laugh. “It’s nothing.”

“Gems.”

She smiled easily at the nickname. “It’s nothing, really,” she repeated and lowered her voice just a little, “I just… I hadn’t really entertained the thought of finding you settled with someone already.”

Harry blushed near instantly, and Gemma laughed again. “I don’t mean anything by it! I just, Christ, Harry, I don’t think I ever even heard you mention a date back home. Which, oh,” she paused and snorted at herself, staring down at her tea. “I guess that all makes some sense now, doesn’t it? But still, fast-forward seven months and you’re living with your _boyfriend_. I haven’t even thought about moving in with the guy I’ve been seeing, and we’ve been dating for over a year.”

Harry’s cheeks were even darker than before, and Louis couldn’t suppress a grin of his own. “Yeah, but, we have Zayn here, too,” Harry reminded her, rushing through the words. “And we were roommates before we—before anything ever—it’s not like I actually moved in with my—”

“Harry,” Gemma cut him off with another laugh. “I’m only joking, don’t worry about it. I think it’s pretty cute, anyway.”

The younger boy grumbled something about _not cute_ , and Louis sputtered a laugh into his tea. “See, Haz, you’re _cute._ Better just accept it.”

Harry glared at him and muttered quietly, “Never cooking for you again, honestly.”

“Sure you aren’t,” Louis agreed. But the way Harry was trying not to smile, he knew Harry’s statement wouldn’t hold up for long. Blue caught green and held for a moment, before he noticed Gemma watching their exchange. She was staring with a curious sort of expression in her eyes, a slight tilt of a smirk to her lips; Louis chose not to mention it. Rather, he cleared his throat after a minute and excused himself from the table. “I’ll let you two catch up for a bit, alright?”

Harry let him go only after assuring him he could stay, but Louis insisted. He felt like he was imposing, in a way, and he knew there were probably more personal questions Gemma was too polite to ask in his presence. So Louis hid out in their bedroom, vowing to give them at least a half hour to themselves, and settled in at the head of the bed. It wasn’t until he had been sitting for a good five minutes when a thought clicked with him and he pulled out his phone. He brought up his messages from Josh and sent off:  
 _  
nice of you to tell us harry’s SISTER was actually here !_

The reply came a hesitant minute later.  
 _  
i’m sorry ok she threatened – much like u – genital decimation if i told u guys she was here_

_and tbh i thought randomly asking about her was warning enough_

Which, okay, Josh had a point. Louis had been suspicious when Josh sent the text, but he hadn’t thought Harry’s sister would actually show up on their doorstep. He’d never thought that was even a possibility. But _apparently._

_Still_ , he sent back. _a proper warning would’ve been nice_

_I’M SORRY is everything ok tho?_

Harry was taking it better than Louis could’ve imagined, actually. But Louis didn’t know so much the backstory with Harry’s sister—if she knew all that much at all. He knew Harry’s past with his mum and his step-dad, but he didn’t know much about Gemma other than that she was Harry’s sister, had been off at university, and that they hadn’t talked for a while. Evidently, a long while.

But Harry wasn’t running for the hills, and he wasn’t closing up. He looked remarkably happy and at ease, which was more than Louis could have hoped for on a surprise meeting.  
 _  
everything’s going to be alright I think :)_

When Louis wandered out of the bedroom close to an hour later, he saw as much for himself. He found Harry and Gemma sat too close on the sofa, wide smiles strung across their faces and their mugs forgotten on the coffee table as they talked in quiet voices about something from their past. It was rare to see Harry smiling and laughing about something from before his time at the flat, but it made Louis breathe easier to see it happen.

_Yeah_ , Louis thought when he left the two of them alone for the night. _Everything’s alright._

**

Gemma stayed the night on the sofa, rightfully earning it the title of Styles Sofa.

“Honestly at this point, I think it’s more a part of your family than anyone’s,” Louis laughed as the three of them made their way to his car.

“That’s unfortunate,” Gemma said with a grimace. She rubbed at her neck, rolling her head a bit from side to side. “Not to be rude, but it’s kind of shit. Might’ve had a better sleep on the floor.”

Harry reddened just a tad. “It’s not _that_ bad.”

Both Louis and Gemma snorted.

“It’s not!”

Louis laughed once they were all in the car. “Haz, really. You don’t have to defend the sofa.”

“I’m not defending it,” Harry mumbled.

“Okay, fine.” Louis laughed when they got to a red light. “But look me in the eye and tell me truthfully that you’re not happy to be off the sofa.”

Harry held Louis’ gaze for a moment and started to say it but glanced away by the second word. “Fine,” he settled with a set jaw once they started moving again. “Maybe it’s not the greatest sofa in the world.”

“It’s not,” Gemma voiced from the rear seat. “Not sure how you managed it for so long. Louis must be something great, ‘cause I would’ve left ages ago. No offense, Louis.”

Harry and Louis both blushed, but Louis smiled softly. “None taken. I probably would’ve left, too.”

“Yeah, well,” was all Harry said. His ears were burning a bright pink when Louis managed a glance in his direction; it just made him smile even more. A force of habit now, he took one hand from the steering wheel and offered it to Harry, palm up. He thought nothing of it until their fingers were intertwined and Gemma whined dramatically from behind them.

“Ugh, you two are that annoyingly cute couple, aren’t you?” she asked, mocking disgust.

In response, Louis only brought their joined hands up far enough to press a kiss to one of Harry’s knuckles.

Gemma groaned even louder. “Horrible, honestly,” she commented with a scoff. But when Louis looked back in the rearview mirror, she was smiling at the two of them.

The rest of the drive to Gemma’s friends house passed in relative silence, only a comment or two thrown in along the way. All three of them got out of the car once parked, but Louis kept a distance while letting Harry and Gemma say their goodbyes. They hugged more times than he could keep count. Harry’s eyes looked damp when they pulled apart the last time, and he nodded and headed toward the car without another word.

Louis was about to do the same, but Gemma called him over. “Louis, wait.”

He lifted a brow but came back around the car to meet Gemma outside the house. “Something the matter?” he wondered.

Gemma shook her head as she slipped a folded piece of paper into Louis’ hand, sparing a glance back toward Harry. “It has my number and our mum’s address back home,” she explained quickly and quietly before Louis could even ask. “Take him to see her.”

“Sorry?” Louis laughed, sure he hadn’t heard her right.

“Take him to see her,” Gemma repeated, her tone serious and voice too low to be heard. “Mum needs to see him, okay? She needs to know that he’s alright. It doesn’t have to be much, but promise me you’ll take him to see her.”

“I, um,” Louis started with a confused blink. She was probably one of the last people Harry wanted to see, but Gemma looked so concerned, so determined. Louis shook out of his thoughts after a moment and nodded. “Yeah, yes, of course.”

Some of the tension seemed to ease itself from Gemma’s features, and she wrapped Louis in a short hug. “Good, thank you so much,” she said before pulling away. “You can call me or text before going, for anything, really. I just… They both need this, okay?”

Louis could think of a few reasons to disagree, but he nodded again and spared a glance back toward the car. Harry was staring at them with a curious look—curious what they could possibly be talking about so seriously, no doubt.

“Right,” Gemma noticed. “Okay, I could probably stand here and thank you for about fifteen hundred things you’ve done for Harry over the past half year, but I won’t. Just know I’m so thankful he’s found you, yeah?”

The thank you caught Louis off guard, and he was left searching for a proper response when Gemma just shook her head and gave him another hug. She was smiling widely when she pulled away. “You don’t have to say anything, okay, it’s probably weird to be thanking you like this. Just, erm. Thanks for helping Harry find his home, okay?”

All Louis could do was nod, any of the words he wanted to say stuck in a mess in the back of his throat. He waited until Gemma waved goodbye again and disappeared inside the house before heading back toward the car, the folded paper carefully tucked into his shorts’ pocket.

Harry was looking at him curiously from the passenger’s seat. “Everything alright?” he asked once Louis was buckled in.

“Yeah,” Louis answered after a steadying breath, starting up the engine. “Everything’s alright. Home?” he asked.

And for the first time, Harry smiled and agreed. “Yeah, let’s go home.”


	18. Settled: July's Good

July came with the bombarding exhaustion of summer heat, which, naturally of course, led rise to a short holiday to the sea. 

“It’s become sort of an annual thing,” Louis told Harry while opening and closing multiple drawers to find his swim trunks. He had his hands in the very far back of the bottom drawer when he continued, “Josh’s aunt has a house over along the coast. Not sure why exactly, seems like she never properly uses it. But she lets us have at it whenever we want, so.” 

So it was an annual thing, that Harry just suddenly happened to become a part of. They were set to leave on a Friday morning, just a couple weeks after Gemma had turned up on their doorstep unannounced. Any tension that had remained amongst the boys had long since dissipated, although Louis chewing Josh a new one certainly helped expedite the process. 

But with the past left in the past, the 5 of them—Josh, Niall, Zayn, Louis, and now Harry—all piled into Louis’ car on a Friday morning in early July to escape for a four-day weekend of the sea, the sun, and more booze than strictly necessary. Louis drove and Josh took the driver’s seat because, “Sorry, mate, someone’s gotta help this bugger navigate. Hopeless, honestly.” 

So Harry slid into the backseat with Niall in the middle and Zayn on the far side. They were barely outside of the city when Zayn was completely out, his head bobbing against the window. Niall was already lost with his headphones on, and Josh was turning an unfolded map around and around and around in the front seat. 

A laugh on his lips, Harry leaned forward just enough to rest his head on the shoulder of the driver’s seat. “He’s actually our guide?” he asked in a whisper to Louis. 

Louis snorted. “Shh,” he whispered in reply, “I let him think I need his help. Otherwise he feels left out.” 

Josh didn’t even look up from the map when he lifted one hand to flip off both of them. 

“Ah,” Harry said knowingly, “so the map’s only for show?” 

“Well, from past experience,” Josh spoke up, “we’ll probably end up needing it at some point.” 

Sure enough, the map came into play two hours later when Louis missed a turnoff because Josh was too busy fiddling with the radio. Harry tried not to laugh too much as the car broke out into chaos, Josh, Louis, and even Zayn trying to figure out how to get back to the main road. Despite the mix up, they arrived at a house along the coast just after noon. Niall was the first one out of the car, snatching the key from Josh’s hand and muttering something about, “—been needing a piss since we left, Jesus Christ I’m gonna explode—” 

Harry took his time unfolding from his spot in the back of the car, taking a moment just to stand once out of the car. The sun was high in the sky and the day was still warm, even with the clouds spotting the sky. The air was heavy with salt when he took a deep breath, and it was refreshing in a way he hadn’t expected. A smile settled along his lips, despite the childhood memory that whispered at the back of his mind. It was a comfortable memory, though it sat heavy like a weight in his stomach, tethered to his past and family. 

“Harreh!” Zayn’s shout pulled Harry away, and he turned to find the older boy standing at the back of the car, boot open. “Come help me unload. Those other twats already left.” 

And sure enough, when Harry turned to look he found Josh, Louis, and Niall all making a run for the beach that’s just a block away from the house. Harry laughed as they started yanking their shirts off mid-run. “Do they always do this?” 

“Behave like spoiled children?” Zayn wondered, handing one of the duffels to Harry. “I think you know them well enough to answer that yourself.” 

"So..." Harry drew it out, ending with a laugh. "That's a yes?" 

Zayn laughed, too, grabbing the last bag from the boot. "That would be an astounding yes." 

All the bags in tow, Zayn and Harry made their way from the car and up the three steps into the house. There was a small, covered porch on front, just large enough to accommodate a single wicker love seat of patio furniture. The house opened up into the living room, large and spacious and littered with a corner sofa that stretched around the front wall and corner. A big console TV - the type Harry hadn't actually seen in person outside of his grandparent's house when he was a child - sat opposite the sofa. Stairs stood directly across from the door, leading in a twist to the second floor. 

"Rooms are all upstairs," Zayn confirmed Harry's suspicions, already heading up the stairs. "There's four rooms, so we never shared in the past. I'm guessing we'll only use three this time, which is good. Means we don't have to draw straws to see who's stuck with the kid's room." 

"Kid's room?" 

"This one," Zayn said and kicked at the first door on the left. Harry leaned far enough forward to take a look inside, and it sure lived up to its title. The walls were a pale, cotton candy pink, and the rest of the room was decked out with the Little Mermaid; the duvet, the stuffed animals, the pillows and bed skirt, even two framed posters on the wall. It was a wild mix of blues and yellows, all surrounded by pretty in pink. 

"It's not all that bad," Harry reasoned as he turned back to Zayn. 

"Yeah." Zayn snorted, moving down the corridor. "If you're 7, mate." 

"At least it's fittingly themed for the beach?" 

Zayn shook his head, a smile still on his lips. "Guess so. The other rooms aren't so... loud. Here," he said, stopping outside of the next door. "You and Lou can take this one. Nice sized bed, lots of space." 

Harry looked surprised. "You and Niall don't want it?" 

Zayn laughed again. "Harry, mate, Niall and I are taking the master suite. Just be glad you stuck around to pick rooms. If Josh were first one in, he would've stuck the two of you in the tiny-ass corner room over there." He nodded toward an open door at the far end of the hall. "Double bed but practically no space. Smaller than the Little Mermaid shrine. Josh is gonna be well pissed, but hey." Zayn smiled, stopping just outside the door to what Harry assumed was the master suite. “That’s his fault for beaching before unloading." 

It sounded like Zayn muttered, "Prick," before disappearing into his room, but Harry wouldn't hold him to it. Instead, Harry took the moment to step inside what would be his and Louis' room for the next four days and three nights. 

Like Zayn had said, the room was much tamer than the kid's room. The walls were a dusty tan, not unlike sand; the bed was queen-sized and covered with simple sheets, white with thin navy stripes; a nightstand stood on either side of the bed, a matching lamp on each; there was a dresser across from the bed, a small TV standing atop it; there was a closet in the corner adjacent the door; and floor to ceiling windows made up the opposite wall, framing a sliding glass door that led out to a small balcony. 

Harry barely had time to drop the bags from his hands before his feet were carrying him to the sliding door. With the curtains shoved out of the way, he flipped the lock and took two small steps out onto the balcony. It was a cream painted concrete with a white railing all around, and it was empty except for another wicker love seat that sat at an angle in the corner. 

The breeze was the first thing to hit Harry as he stepped onto the balcony, stronger and cooler and so very different from everywhere he’d been. He could see the spread of beach from here, just overtop a rooftop, and could make out people if he squinted just hard enough. He thought he could even pick out which blurry figure was Louis, but his attention jumped to the shoreline and the clouds and the impossible sky that seemed to stretch on to no end. It was beautiful in the kind of way Harry didn’t think existed outside of touched up photographs and paintings. But there it was, right in front of him, and he couldn’t wait to breathe it all in. 

**

The boys broke in the weekend with a night in. 

They lounged along the back porch, tired and lazy, stretched out on the patio furniture. Empty beer bottles rested forgotten on the ground, glasses half full of rum and coke and melting ice sat beside chairs and legs, just out of reach with rings of condensation long since formed. Niall had a guitar propped on his leg, and he was strumming through something slow and quiet that didn’t even resemble the song sputtering out of the radio on the back step. 

If the breeze weren’t so cool against his skin, or he weren’t already riding on a pleasant buzz, Harry might have grown annoyed with the conflicting sounds. Instead, he smiled gently and shifted in his spot on the ground, moving back fully against Louis’ legs and letting his cheek roll against Louis’ knee. 

“'S nice here,” Josh summarized from where he was lying on the floor, a few paces from Harry’s outstretched legs. Josh rolled his head to the other side so he was facing the rest of them, a stupid sort of grin wide across his lips. “Should’ve done this earlier,” he said and reached just far enough to bat Harry’s foot. “What d’ya think, Harry?” 

Harry thought back to June, to May, to times when he might still have held back quite a few of his words, held back into himself. To times when his footing was still shaky in the group, though undoubtedly growing steadier with each passing day. He thought of the boy who blushed too much and didn’t know what to make of his feelings, and he shook his head. 

“July’s good,” Harry responded. 

“Better weather,” Zayn added. 

“But more people,” Niall countered in a mumble, striking a harder chord. The strings rattled against the wood, and they all grimaced at the twang. “Sorry.” 

“Mm,” Josh hummed, shrugging. “More people is a nice thing, though. More girls—not that that’s the only reason I’m here of course, but I’m not complaining.” 

Louis laughed from behind Harry, the sound light with the wind. “Of course you’re not, Josh.” 

“Well pardon me for being the only one single and beyond ready to mingle,” Josh replied, and the others snorted and groaned. Harry shook his head with a laugh but didn’t miss the hand that settled just at the base of his neck, fingers curling into his hair. The laugh died in his throat. Josh muttered something else about couples but it was lost to Harry, who felt like his neck was pulsing with a blush. He felt a wave in his gut, a warm sort of tingle, and he bit his lip to hold it in. He glanced back toward Louis and found him staring at Niall and his guitar, but a small smile was sitting at the corner of his lips, hidden from plain sight. Harry smiled, too, and moved back into the touch. 

“We should hit the pier tomorrow,” Niall changed the topic, looking up at the others as he continued strumming through a song Harry vaguely recognized. Something by Oasis, if he had to guess. Or a mellow Katy Perry cover. He was never too sure with Niall. 

Louis was already nodding. “Definitely. Would’ve started there tonight if you lot hadn’t been so set on the beach.” 

“The beach is obviously more important,” Josh declared, clearly a strong supporter of the sun and sand, his skin already pink with a burn. He was the last to leave the beach at the end of the day, and Harry imagined he’d probably be there every hour of daylight for the next three days. 

“But the _pier_ ,” Niall stressed. “So much more to do!” 

Zayn shook his head and muttered, “Such a child, honestly,” but he was smiling fondly at Niall as he said it. 

“What’s so great about the pier?” Harry wondered, because the last time he’d even been to the coast he was probably eleven. The only pier he remembered was a walkway out over the waves, which really was not thrilling at all. 

“It’s one of those pleasure piers,” Zayn supplied. “The touristy type, you know?”

“Lots of rides and bars and food,” Niall added, grinning. “Candy shops and shit. It’s great.” 

“Shops and kiosks, too,” continued Louis . 

“Bright, flashing lights and overpriced shirts,” Zayn amended, almost grimacing. 

Louis shrugged. “It’s fun.”

“It’s _sick_ ,” Niall said instead. 

“Eh,” Josh said, making a face as he finished off his beer. “It’s ok. Too many families.”

Louis sighed and tossed a balled up napkin at Josh. “Don’t be such a downer, yeah? You didn’t want to leave the pier last summer.” 

“Yeah, well.” Josh shrugged against the floor. “Had a change of heart. I now live for the beach and waves. No more kiddie rides and arcade games. I’ve left that Josh in the past.” 

Sighing, Louis tilted Harry’s head back so their eyes could meet. “So, pier tomorrow?” He smiled lightly, like he was treading forward nervously. Like he thought Harry might jump on board with Josh and immediately say no. 

Harry’s chest fluttered simply because Louis was asking him in the first place, like it were some formal dinner plan or date and not just a walk to the pier. He smiled, his lips pursed around a silent laugh, and nodded. “Sounds great.” 

**

Harry woke the following morning to sounds nothing like mornings at the flat. There wasn’t the early morning bustle of students and workers getting ready for the day. No slamming car doors or distant sirens and horns. There was a sort of tranquil silence to the early hour, just a gull’s occasional caw and the distant waves crashing on the shoreline. 

When Harry blinked open his eyes he wasn’t met with the usual dull grey of their bedroom, the sun blocked by other houses and trees and too many clouds. Instead he saw a warm golden glow creeping in from the balcony, so bright it made him squint. It was unusual, but Harry smiled as he stretched, careful not to disrupt Louis where he was sprawled beside Harry on the bed. Their legs were tangled, and Harry had to carefully wedge his right arm from beneath Louis, but the older boy was so exhausted he didn’t even stir with the movement. 

Quietly, Harry threw on yesterday’s clothes, grabbed his phone from the dresser, and headed downstairs. The house was silent, the others undoubtedly still asleep, and Harry wasn’t about to wake them. It was barely half six. 

Rather, Harry didn’t stick around at all. He slipped on his Converse and left through the back door, sure not to let it slam behind him. He took a deep breath, letting it fill every inch of his lungs, before descending the porch steps and walking the block to the beach. 

It was early enough that the beach was nearly vacant. A mother and daughter were walking at the water’s edge, a few runners were taking advantage of the free space to jog along the coast, but that was his only company. No one had yet pitched their spot for the day with chairs and towels. 

Harry had no plans to stay for long either, but he sat down when he reached the point where the tide had been, dry and wet sand converging. He sat with his legs bent in front of him and leaned back on his palms as he looked out at the sun rising over the horizon. 

The waves crashed several yards in front of him, and he let his body relax as he breathed in the salty air. It sent his mind rushing to the past, remembering a family trip all the way to the southern coast. He thought back to how they had all packed too much and piled into the car too early on a Saturday morning. He had been six, and it was his first trip to the seaside. All of their previous family holidays had been disguised as visits to relatives but somehow always labeled a "holiday" all the same. 

That first family holiday to the beach, though, was something Harry would never forget. Instead of sleeping on a cot in his cousins' small bedroom, he had walked into his own bedroom at their rented beach house. It was heaven, he remembered thinking. His own room and own bed and the beach and the sea just a few blocks away. It was something else. But his favorite part of the trip hadn't been building sandcastles or searching for shells or trying to fly a kite against the wind and crashing it every ten seconds. 

Harry’s favorite memory, rather, was more a quiet thing. It was the third morning of their holiday when his mum nudged him awake. She spoke to him in whispers with a smile too bright for the dull blue-grey sky outside his window. But she was lively, so lively, he remembered. She coaxed him out of bed, even though the block numbers on his digital watch too big for his wrist only read 5:37. He groaned, of course, dragging his feet as he followed in his mother's footsteps. 

"Where are we going?" Harry had asked, quiet—at his mum's direction—as they slipped on sandals and snuck out the door without waking Dad or Gemma. "Should we get Gemma?"

But his mum shook her head, her lips sealed tightly as she held her hand out to Harry. He took it, still not knowing where they were headed or why at such an early time. His mum didn't say anything as she walked them toward the beach, only humming softly under her breath. It felt right. The world was still asleep, anyway. 

They walked the blocks to the beach, walked right across the sand and to the very edge of the water. No one else was in sight, just the two of them and the sand and the sky still holding onto night. The air was cool, and the water was even cooler when they stood with just their feet in the water, their sandals dangling from their hands. The waves licked around their ankles, somehow muted in the early morning. 

Harry didn't know how many minutes had passed, didn't think to look at his watch, and was just about to ask his mum again what they were doing when he looked out and saw it. The sun was creeping up above the horizon, so slowly you wouldn't even notice it unless you were looking right at it. And he remembered how big it looked back then, so, so big and golden and spreading into the sky above the waves. 

"Mum, look," he had said, shaking at his mum's hand he was still holding onto. He glanced up at her but she was already staring out, nodding at his urgency. He turned his gaze back to the sunrise and watched in silence, his sandals dangling from one hand, the other still snug in his mum’s hand, the waves crashing quietly around them. 

Minutes passed, Harry still didn’t know how many, before his mum finally spoke. “This is my favorite time of day,” she had said, smiling softly like that explained everything. At six years old, Harry remembered still asking, “Why?” to a lot of things. That was one of the rare moments he didn’t need to, one of the few times he was content with such few words. Even small and understated, his mum’s smile always lit up something bright—just like the sun.

Harry looked down from the sky now, at his feet that had since sunk just a smidge into the damp sand. He took another deep breath and it caught in his throat, his eyes suddenly stinging at the corners. 

Blaming the sun and salty air but knowing better, he cleared his throat, scrubbed a hand over his face, and fished his phone from the pocket of his jean shorts. He pulled up his texts. There was an unanswered one from Gemma from the day before, one he still wasn’t sure how to answer; he clicked away from his messages, avoiding it still. He brought up the camera instead, angling the lens up toward the sun now well risen above the horizon. 

The photo was small and grainy and possibly the shittiest quality one could get on a basic phone, but the result still left his chest heavy and aching. His eyes stung again. 

“There you are,” a voice cut in behind him. 

Harry looked over his shoulder to find Louis walking toward him, slightly stumbling through the sand. He was barefoot, sandals held in one hand, and his fringe was blowing into his eyes as he closed the distance between them. He sat down beside Harry with a gentle smile, though his eyes looked something like relieved. "What are you doing out here?"

Harry shrugged, tossing his phone between his hands. "Wanted to watch the sunrise." 

"But it's so early," Louis whined lightly and let his head fall against Harry's shoulder. 

Harry laughed softly. "Funny thing about sunrises, that," he said.

"Ha ha," Louis mocked, his laugh interrupted with a yawn. He stayed silent after that, minutes passing as they stayed like that, watching the sun barely move at all. The wind calmed down, a runner passed, the mother and daughter looking for shells filled their bucket too full. Louis shifted his head on Harry's shoulder and hummed a note. "By yourself?" 

Harry shrugged again, trying not to jostle Louis too much. "Didn't want to wake you." 

"Mm," Louis hummed. Not fully convinced. "Wouldn't have minded." 

"You would've whined."

"Would not have!" 

Harry laughed. "You would have." 

"Fine," Louis huffed a sigh. "Maybe a little, but only because it's too early to even be alive."

"See?"

"Still wouldn't have minded, though," Louis insisted and sat upright. He looked to Harry with a small, muted smile. "Not really." 

Harry smiled, too, but it faltered after a minute. Despite Louis' smile, there was a crease of worry set between his brows, a certain look to his eyes. It was a look Harry had seen on multiple occasions over the months—one that Louis never said a word about but wore all the same. It was a mix of worry and concern, hesitancy and relief, like Louis was teetering on a ledge. Uncertain and a little nervous, never quite sure if Harry would be there when he woke up—like Harry wasn't today. Harry's stomach flipped with the thought, and he chewed his lip for a moment before saying, soft but serious, "I'm not going to just disappear one morning. You know that... right?" 

Louis hesitated. He hesitated but nodded. It wasn’t enough. 

"I wouldn't..." Harry started and trailed off, glancing away from Louis and out toward the horizon. He had left before, from home, from his family, from Louis and his friends. He had picked up and left without a word. But those times were different in their own ways and even more different than now. Those were times when he was lost and worried, down and expecting no one to care. Times when he felt absolutely alone. 

Now was different in so many ways, too many to count. But now, maybe most importantly, Harry didn't feel alone. He hadn't felt alone in months, even if sometimes his heart felt too heavy for his body and his memories crept up on him when he wished they wouldn't. He rarely felt alone, though, and he had the boy beside him to thank most for that. 

Harry looked back to Louis then. The smile had faded from Louis' lips and that concerned look had fully taken its place, and he was looking at Harry, waiting for him to continue. 

There weren’t enough words to convince Louis, though, no easy way to make him believe Harry wouldn’t one day leave without a word or explanation. But Harry was here now, and he had Louis beside him, wearing one of Harry’s hoodies and staring at him like he might suddenly vanish right before his eyes.

Sighing, Harry settled with wrapping an arm around Louis’ shoulders and drew him into his side, pressing a kiss to his head. “‘M not going anywhere, alright?” he asked quietly. Delicately. 

He could feel Louis take a deep breath, feel him hold it for a moment before nodding and letting it go. “Alright,” Louis agreed, cleared his throat and said it with more certainty. “Alright. Now hush up, won’t you? I’m trying to watch the bloody sunrise.” 

Harry could hear the smile in Louis’ voice so he smiled, too, holding Louis a little closer. 

**

The pier was something else. 

Like Zayn had said, there were bright, flashing lights. Lots of them, especially near the rides and arcades, where Niall dragged them first. They went on a giant slide, cups and saucers, a raceway, and the carousel maybe more than once (only because there wasn’t a line, okay?) But Zayn and Harry held back as Niall, Louis, and Josh raided the arcade, holding a few sodas, bags of candy floss, and packages of various sweets between them. 

“I had no idea the arcade was so exciting,” Harry commented through a laugh, watching as Niall and Josh fought over a spot at a shooter game. 

“Deprived childhoods, these ones,” Zayn explained. He nodded toward an empty table not too far away and dumped the sweets onto it with a sigh. 

Harry did the same and dropped to the chair with a muffled yawn. "Least we're done with the rides, yeah?" 

"Thank god," Zayn agreed. "Don't think I could handle another round of the carousel." 

Harry smirked, remembering how Zayn and Niall piled into one of the benches on the carousel and took selfies the entire time, all smiles and fond looks; Harry chose not to mention it, taking a sip from his soda instead. The dark-haired boy let out another sigh and pulled out his phone as he relaxed in his chair, letting their conversation trail off as he typed out a text. 

Harry took the downtime to let his eyes shift around the arcade. There were families dominating the crowds, mostly parents chaperoning little ones as they ran from game to game. Some older kids were there, too, but Harry felt like their group stuck out like a sore thumb. Niall, Louis, nor Josh seemed to care, though, as they laughed, loud and unabashed, huddled around an old-school video game. Maybe there isn't a true age limit to fun. 

A buzz drew Harry's attention away from the other boys, and he freed his phone from his pocket to find a new text from Gemma. 

_Hey you! it's been a while how are things?_

Harry read the text three times and contemplated a short, simple reply. Something friendly but wouldn’t spark a long conversation. He typed out: _things are good! How are you?_ But it felt too formal for siblings, at least for him and Gemma. He deleted it, fingers hovering over the keys to type something new. At the same time, maybe formal were—

"All good, Harry?" 

Harry looked up from his phone to see Zayn staring at him with a creased brow. He nodded, a force of habit, but then— “Actually, no… I, I don’t know.” 

He looked up again, and Zayn lifted a brow in question. 

“It’s just,” Harry started with a heavy sigh and lowered his gaze back to his phone. “It’s weird having Gemma back in my life?” 

“Your sister, right?” Harry nodded, and Zayn hummed an agreement. “Guess that could be a little weird, huh?” 

“Fuckin’ weird,” Harry mumbled, staring at the text still lighting up his screen. It was such a plain message. He shouldn’t have to stress over a reply; it _should_ have come naturally. The problem was, it wasn’t. 

“Thought Louis said you two were getting on like nothing?” Zayn said after a beat, leaning his elbows onto the table. 

“We were,” Harry said, because that night when Gemma showed up unexpected at the flat was apparently a one time thing. The conversation had flowed easily enough, no question too invasive, nothing seemingly too personal. It was like they were fifteen and twelve again, staying up too late on a summer night and talking about anything that came to mind. But once they parted ways, it was like a switch was flipped. From siblings back to awkward strangers in five seconds. 

As soon as Harry had a second to himself, it was like the entire several months without any family in his life came crashing back down—the time when he needed family most and they weren’t there, Gemma included. Months he was on his own, _months_. A time in Harry’s life when he probably grew up the most, changed the most. He was a different person now than the boy Gemma last saw at home with mum and dad the year before. And it— 

“I don’t think I’m the same brother she’s used to,” Harry admitted, flicking his eyes up to meet Zayn’s gaze. 

The older boy’s lips twitched with a frown, and he was silent for a moment before asking, “Don’t you think she knows that?” 

And Harry shrugged because he wanted to believe so, but he just wasn’t sure. So much had changed, and he wasn’t even sure of where they stood. Sometimes he wondered if Gemma’s ease that night at the flat had only been an act, or a blunder, maybe. Maybe she was only being polite. A minute passed before he wondered aloud, absently running his fingers across the three words inked on his wrist, “What if she realizes she doesn’t understand?” 

Zayn scrunched his brow, confused. “Understand what?” 

Harry hesitated, his eyes downcast as he motioned languidly toward himself and finished, “Me.” 

From the look of it, Harry didn’t have to spell it out for Zayn and he was thankful as the other boy’s features softened just a little. He looked almost sad but also like he understood Harry’s worry—fear, really. It was a nightmare he had repeatedly: someone he loves suddenly walking out of his life for a reason Harry has no way to change. It left him weary. 

But Zayn shook his head and told Harry, pointblank, “She won’t.” 

“And if she does?” 

“She won’t.” 

“But if she does?” Harry persisted, because it kept him up one night too many. 

Zayn fell silent then, his jaw set as if holding himself back from participating in a futile argument. He eyed Harry, as though studying him, for several long, excruciating seconds, before shaking his head once more. “If she does, then she’s not worth the fight.” 

They were the words Harry didn’t want to hear, left a sour taste on his tongue and deep in his throat. 

“But she won’t just up and suddenly not understand,” Zayn continued, sounding so certain. So genuine. 

Harry’s chest was still tight, though. “How do you know?” 

“I don’t.” Zayn shrugged, but a smile slid across his lips. He dropped his eyes to Harry’s phone and then glanced up again. “But she’s here now, isn’t she? Don’t throw away a bit of happiness just because you’re scared.” He tapped twice at Harry’s phone and gave him a short nod before turning back to his own. 

Harry spared a look around the arcade, the loud sounds and laughter suddenly falling back into place all around him. But Zayn’s words were somehow the only noise echoing in his ears, and Harry picked up his phone and brought up the text from his sister. _She’s here now_ , Harry repeated to himself and typed out a reply that felt more natural than all the others he had written and backspaced the past week. His chest felt a little lighter. 

**

The group got a late start the following day, after sharing too many drinks and stories at a bar on the pier the night before. They slept off their hangovers the best they could, ate breakfast well after lunchtime, and managed to get themselves to the beach by three in the afternoon. But, the sun was still high in the sky, and it was just as crowded for a summer weekend as Harry would have expected. There were families and couples and groups staked out along the sand, bright towels and chairs and umbrellas everywhere in sight. Harry couldn’t help if it brought a smile to his face. 

“We should build a sandcastle,” Niall declared as they were setting up camp, towels already littered with sand. 

“Don’t think it really takes five grown boys to build a little castle out of sand, Ni,” Louis commented, plopping down onto one of the towels. 

“It does to build a massive one,” Niall said, a grin spreading across his face. “What d’ya say, lads?” 

Josh jumped up to join in a heartbeat, and Harry wasn’t about to say no to building sandcastles at the beach. That’s kind of the point, isn’t it? A staple of any beach holiday? 

But, Zayn grimaced from where he was already lying out on a towel, sunglasses in place and a book in hand. “You’ve only got two buckets.” 

“One of which has a huge crack down the side,” Louis added. 

“Doesn’t look promising.” 

“Aw, c’mon,” Niall griped, already crouching beside what he deemed the castle’s home. He fished through the bag of beach toys Josh had found in his aunt’s house and pulled out a bright yellow plastic shovel. Smiling, he waved it at Zayn and tried to sell it, “It’ll be fuuuun!” 

Zayn replied by opening his book and fully reclining on his towel. 

Niall only shrugged and started shoveling sand into one of the buckets. “His loss,” he settled and nodded toward the bag of toys. “You lot gonna start digging or what?” 

Which was how Harry got roped into a two-hour sandcastle building venture. When Niall said massive, he meant _massive_. The castle was the type Harry had only seen in photos—with multiple structures and towers, multiple layers, stenciled in windows and doors and gates, decorative shells, and a moat. A failed moat, since the water soaked into the sand as soon as it was filled, but a moat all the same. 

“Look at this thing,” Niall grunted as he pushed himself from his knees. “Fuckin’ masterpiece.” 

“It’s not finished yet,” Zayn muttered under his breath. He and Louis had both been coaxed into helping out, as begrudging as they were, and Zayn had taken it upon himself to draw in all of the details of the castle. Still hunched over one of the side towers, his face was stiff in concentration as he used the edge of a shell to carve a stone pattern into the sand. Niall looked on with a fond smile. 

When it was finished, Harry stole Louis’ phone to take pictures of the castle. He snapped one from nearly every angle and zoomed in on certain parts, for Zayn’s sake he reasoned. They passed the phone off to a mum and son who were walking past, and all five of them crowded around the castle with stupidly proud smiles. While the others gritted out ‘cheese’ for the photo, Niall stretched out his arms and proclaimed, “Best sandcastle in the world!” 

Harry had half a mind to believe it truly was. 

**

The sandcastle hype didn’t last for long, as they all made a dash for the waves to cool down. They waded through the shallow tide and played silly games from their childhoods, blindly searching for each other and climbing onto each other’s shoulders. It left Harry’s cheeks sore from laughing. 

Zayn and Louis left at one point, claiming a need for a quick snack. Harry had Niall on his shoulders as Josh tried to knock him down, and he tried not to notice the serious set to Louis’ face or how Zayn kept eying him from the distance. He tried not to think much of what looked like a hushed, private conversation. He thought it curious, but his worry was forgotten as Niall slipped from his shoulders and into the water with a distractingly loud splash. 

**

Hours later, Harry wasn’t really sure how he ended up where he was. 

He remembered Louis rejoining them in the water, greeting Harry with a tackle that left them laughing in shallow water with salt in his mouth. He remembered Louis hanging onto him and he hung onto Louis in return, their hands and grabby behavior easily hidden in the waves. He remembered Louis on his shoulders and holding on too tight, covering his eyes, messing with his wet curls, absently playing with his ears. He remembered Louis stealing a kiss, and he remembered kissing Louis back a minute later, almost dragging him too far into the waves. 

He remembered separating themselves from the others, saying they just wanted to take a walk along the beach. And they _had_ taken a walk, hand in hand, kicking at shells as they walked and talked about whatever came to mind. 

He remembered Niall finding them a while later, the sun lower in the sky, saying they were planning on packing up and finding some place to eat. “Go on without us,” Harry had said. “We’ll join you later.” 

But the thought of dinner fell with the setting sun as Louis and Harry slowly made their way back to the house. Their hands were full, holding bags and chairs, towels draped over their shoulders. But their arms bumped together as they walked, swinging hands brushing on accident or not, and each touch felt like an electric shock. Felt almost like fire. Felt like something was building up and up and up with every step, every look, every small brush of skin. It left Harry buzzing. 

They dropped the beach supplies on the porch and made their way inside and upstairs silently—not touching and not looking. Maybe the air was buzzing too, Harry thought, or maybe he was losing his mind. But Louis was walking up the stairs in front of him, his swim trunks riding low on his hips, and Harry had to force his eyes to the floor. 

“We should change,” Louis broke the silence when they reached their room. “Maybe meet the others for dinner?” 

And Harry nodded his agreements because it made sense. Getting dressed, joining the others, it made sense. They should do that. They should. But Harry’s mind was drifting elsewhere and he could feel Louis’ body heat as they stood beside each other, rummaging through their open suitcases. He was radiating warmth, and Harry worked up the courage to stop Louis’ hand from where it was sifting through wrinkled, unfolded clothes. 

Louis paused, blue eyes flitting from Harry’s hand on his wrist to the green eyes that were staring straight at him. “What?” he wondered, voice soft. 

Harry bit his lower lip then, calculating his words, his moves, his everything. “Maybe before we join the others we could…” he started but trailed off, straightening up. Louis mirrored his movement. They were already standing so close, Harry barely even had to reach out when he carefully placed one hand on Louis’ side. There was that shock again, something Harry was sure he was making up. But the older boy was warm, _so_ warm from the sun, and he leaned into the touch and stared at Harry with a questioning sort of gaze and it just— “I just really want to kiss you right now.” 

Louis blinked at him, a stuttering blink, and then smiled in the smallest way, muted and soft and simple. “What about dinner?” he asked, feigning importance. 

Harry hummed softly, his lips forming into a smirk, and drew Louis just the slightest bit closer with that hand on his hip. “Dinner can wait?” he said and hated how it fell off his tongue like a question, hated even more the blush that rushed to his cheeks. 

Louis’ smile twitched. His eyes dropped to Harry’s lips, staring, staring, staring. Stared for a minute too long. Blue swept upward to green, and Louis stuttered with a nod, “Ye-yeah. Dinner can… It can wait.” 

There was a second of nothing but then they were kissing and Harry didn’t even know who leaned in first. Didn’t care. Didn’t matter, though, when Louis opened his mouth and let Harry in, or when Harry held Louis’ head with one hand and tipped it for a better angle, fingers curling into his hair, thumb brushing along the curve of his cheek. 

They broke apart for all of a moment, and suddenly Harry was so, _so_ aware of how hot the day was. Night was breaking, but the air was still heavy and the sky was a fading mix of soft pinks and rich oranges and yellows that cast the room in long shadows and warm, fuzzy hues. A breeze blew in from the balcony, gentle and not very cool, but it sent goose bumps rising across Louis’ skin all the same. 

“You cold?” Harry asked, as quiet as if he had just stepped foot into a library, a smile gracing his lips. He ran a hand down Louis’ arm, smoothing over the little bumps like maybe they’d erase just like that. 

Louis shook his head, said, “I’m fine,” with a ring of laughter. 

The laugh stuck in Harry’s ears, made his heart beat a little faster. He breathed in and was overpowered by saltwater and sun screen and Louis’ vanilla body wash and the mix somehow left him feeling euphoric. His eyes ran over Louis, whose skin was dark with a fresh tan, a stark contrast to Harry who was only sun kissed and rosy. 

And Harry grinned at Louis, wide and dimpled, and pulled him in for another kiss. His mind was reeling, but he wasn’t over thinking what he was doing with his hands or his lips or worrying about somehow messing up something. Maybe it was the way the sun was setting outside their window, or the sticky touch of their skin from too much sun lotion and too much saltwater and sand. Whatever the reason, Harry wasn’t holding back. He let his hand slide from Louis’ side to fall into place at the dip of Louis’ back, guiding him in until their hips were flush together, all the while his tongue licking slowly into Louis’ mouth. 

They progressed like that until it grew to be too much. Harry had Louis pressed against the closet door, sucking a messy, sloppy kiss into the curve of his neck, when Louis flattened his hand on Harry’s chest. 

“Gonna bruise,” he said, squirming away, but he was smirking something fierce when their eyes met. 

“Sorry,” Harry replied meekly, his cheeks bright with a blush as he pressed his thumb lightly against the mark. 

Louis caught his lip between his teeth, and for a minute all they did was look at each other. It was the closest they’d been in a while, legs slotted together, warm against one another, and faces so close their eyes were nearly crossed. It was the farthest they’d gone in a couple weeks, too, breathing shallow and both of them hard. It could be the farthest they’ve ever gone, Harry thought—it could be, it so easily could, it—

“What are you thinking?” Louis wondered, tone soft. Curious, but not demanding. 

Harry felt his cheeks heating up again, thinking they must look like they’re on fire by now, and dropped his eyes. “I was, erm,” he started and then shook his head, grinning sort of breathlessly. He couldn’t say it; it felt too bold and explicit for the early evening in their quiet room. So he didn’t use anymore words, instead slowly let his hands smooth down Louis’ back until they rested just over the curve of his arse. He let his eyes meet Louis’ then, watched as they widened, as blue was overpowered by blown pupils as Harry gently spread his cheeks just enough to make his point. 

“Oh, _that_ ,” Louis nearly _purred_ , his voice a little higher than usual. “Really?” 

“Really,” Harry confirmed with a nod and rocked his hips once into Louis’, for good measure. The older boy’s eyes closed, and Harry could hear his breath hitch, feel his muscles tighten. “Can we?” 

Louis’ response included a spastic sort of nodding and a stammered, “Yes, can w—we can. Yes. _Fuck_ , Harry, yes.” And he kissed Harry, hot and rough with too much teeth and tongue, but Harry didn’t mind. Harry smiled into the kiss like it were full of passionate romance, and he drew Louis closer with a hand grasping at his neck. 

They stumbled backward toward the bed, hands shoving at swim trunks and pants and Harry was thankful they weren’t wearing anything more, thought maybe he’d go mad if they had more layers to deal with. Harry let his legs run into the end of the bed and fell backwards onto the mattress, bringing Louis crashing down on top of him. Louis laughed as the mattress bounced beneath them, laughing bright and breathless in a way that left Harry’s stomach in knots. 

They fell together like two matching pieces of a puzzle, fitting around each other with a natural ease. But it wasn’t a time for waxing poetic, not with Louis’ cock hard on Harry’s hip, not with Louis grinding down against him, not with Louis sucking at his upper lip. 

“Do you,” Harry breathed once he broke them apart, “do you have stuff? Erm, lube and a—”

But Louis was already shaking his head, his eyes wide. “I didn’t think we’d—Shit. _Shit_. Can we, no, no—should we—” Louis broke off abruptly and his face lit up. “Niall.” 

“Niall,” Harry repeated with a moment of realization, and then they were both scrambling, best they could, off the bed, out of the bedroom, and across the hall into the master suite where Zayn and Niall were staying. 

“You check Zayn’s bag, I’ll check Niall’s,” Louis ordered, already semi-squatting by Niall’s bag and sifting through the clothes and pockets. 

Harry did the same at Zayn’s, unzipping pockets on the bag and blindly feeling through shirts and pants and shorts and beanies and hats for anything that wasn’t made of bloody cloth until—

“Found some!” Louis shouted and emerged from the depths of Niall’s duffel bag with an entire row of condoms and a not so small bottle of lube, which. Maybe Harry should have guessed, knowing Niall and all. But he didn’t mention it, just snorted and followed Louis back to their room, following too closely but still feeling miles away. 

Louis pulled Harry down to the bed this time, at first only sitting on the edge of the mattress and then crawling backwards toward the pillows. Harry settled between Louis’ spread legs, kissing Louis with laughter bubbling between them. 

And maybe that was the way to do it, Harry thought, because that laughter kept coming in bouts as Louis led him through the motions. 

Harry thought maybe his first time should have been more serious, more straight cut, all dark looks and rough kisses and burning passion. But it wasn’t. It was full of toothy grins and fumbling, slipping hands, a mess of lube and a screech of laughter, a permanent blush to his cheeks and bitten lips, stolen kisses, playful bites. Slow and easy. 

Until it wasn’t. 

Until it was more than that, Harry pushing into Louis with slow, calculated, tantalizing movements. A firm hand on Louis’ hip, guiding him with every thrust, pressing too hard. Louis didn’t seem to mind that it might bruise, just seemed to kiss Harry even harder. 

Until their skin was sticky with sweat and Harry found his rhythm speeding up, his head spinning. Louis’ hands were bunched up in the bed sheets, eyes screwed shut as he met Harry thrust for thrust. Faster, faster, faster, and Harry felt himself coming undone as he wrapped a hand around Louis, not wanting to finish alone. 

Until Louis moaned into Harry’s mouth, rough and unforgiving but somehow just right. “There,” Louis said, urged, holding still for seconds that passed like hours. “ _There_ ,” like it was supposed to mean something, like it meant everything. But Harry wasn’t sure where he ended and Louis began, couldn’t grasp time or space or, _fuck_ , words. But he held for a moment, for two, for three, and pulled out and pushed back in at what he hoped was the same angle. All Harry knew was the heat around him, the way Louis’ muscles tightened and released, the taut outline of Louis’ stomach and chest and arms, the soft gasps that sounded like a whisper before a heavy, drawn out moan. 

“Close,” Louis murmured, seemed to breathe the word against Harry’s skin. “Harry, Harry, fuck, _Harry_.” 

And that was it, Harry finishing with a last thrust and the sound of his name on Louis’ tongue. He stilled, losing his bearings, letting go, barely registering Louis’ name as it fell from his own lips. He rode it out seconds later, blinked open his eyes just in time to bring Louis through his own climax, watching as he came with a short breath all across his stomach and Harry’s hand. But Louis looked so good in that moment, so sated, Harry didn’t even think before pulling out and crashing their mouths together and kissing him, kissing him, kissing him down into the pillows. 

Harry was winded all over again when they pulled apart. He leaned his forehead against Louis’ and smiled, green absolutely drowning in blue. They stayed that way for seconds, maybe minutes or more, and then they laughed, gentle and breathless and reckless. 

They cleaned up with cheeks sore from laughing, swiping tissues from the bedside table and tying up the condom and feeling like children as they tossed the items toward the rubbish bin in the corner, trying in vain to make a basket. 

Harry was still grinning, a dimple denting hard into his left cheek, as he fell back onto the mattress beside Louis. He curled up to Louis’ side and rested his head on the older boy’s chest, pulling him closer with an arm around his waist. 

“Alright?” Louis wondered a while later, his fingers lost in Harry’s curls. The room was nearly dark, full of long shadows and fuzzy blues. 

Harry hummed softly, imagining Louis felt it against his skin more than heard it. “Alright,” he clarified but then laughed, nearly chuckled, shifting his legs against the sheets. 

“What is it?”

“Shoulda brushed off beforehand,” Harry laughed. “There’s so much sand in here.” 

Louis only hummed, a note that made Harry crane his neck to look up at the older boy. “I know,” Louis explained, shifting and making a face. “Think I’ve some stuck in my arse crack.” 

And it was absurd how they fell into laughter once more, curling into each other, breathless and warm. But, Harry thought, it was also somehow perfect. 

**

The others came home later that evening while Harry and Louis were still lounging in bed, positively too lazy to move. But the door opened downstairs and they couldn’t move fast enough. 

“Shower?” Harry suggested, already springing from the bed. 

Louis nodded and jumped from the bed the best he could. They scurried out of the bedroom and down the hall, cursing as their legs tangled in the bed sheets and they tripped over their own feet. They made it into the bath before any of the boys made it upstairs. 

But only did they remember once they were safe under the shower spray the mess they’d left in their room—the supplies they’d left out in clear sight. 

“Maybe they won’t notice?” Louis offered, uncertain. 

Before Harry could reply there was a stir of banging on the bathroom door, what sounded like a congratulatory holler, and Niall distinctly calling out, “LADS!”

**

Their long holiday weekend came to a close the next day after a short morning back at the beach. The sky was cloudy and grey and it started to rain before noon. So they packed up their things, washed up any messes they made, put everything back in its place, and were ready to hit the road two hours ahead of schedule. 

“C’mere,” Niall said before anyone could pile into the car. He motioned for everyone to gather round on the porch and held out his arms, waving them all in. “Group hug, lads, group hug.” 

“As per tradition,” Josh added, joining the small circle the five of them formed, all huddled together. 

They crowded together, arms snug around each other’s shoulders and muted smiles on their faces. 

“Lads,” Niall started, assuming an important, official tone, “I want to thank you all for a fantastic four days. We took a day to ourselves, spent a night on the pier and got absolutely _smashing_ drunk, and built the best fucking sandcastle in the world. You’re the best kind of family I could ask for, and I honestly wouldn’t want to make this blasted trip with anyone else. Also, as always, kudos to Josh’s auntie, good on her.” They all nodded their agreements, their sentiments, before Niall clapped his hands together, signifying the end of their huddle. “Till next year,” he settled but tacked on, “GO IRELAND!” 

He was greeted with a laughing chorus of, “Fuck off,” but they all affectionately shoved each other’s shoulders on the way to the car. 

Harry, though, held back just a little. There was a small smile resting on his lips and Niall’s words running through his mind as he walked. _You’re the best kind of family I could ask for._

It struck Harry at first, made him think, made his brain stutter for a moment. But, _yeah_ , he thought as he slid into his spot in the car, Niall beside him, Zayn on the far side, and Louis and Josh up front, just as before. He looked at the boys around him, boys who had only been a part of his life for half a year, and thought, _Yeah. They’re the best family I can ask for._

~*~


End file.
